


Strange Unearthly Thing

by CarverTwain



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, Gwen Has Magic, Gwen and Merlin Team-Up, Gwen-centric, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Gwen, POV Merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-29 10:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarverTwain/pseuds/CarverTwain
Summary: (Gwen has Magic AU) Gwen's mother had called the little recitations ‘prayers’ or ‘words of love’. Just things to say while you’re preparing some food, or cleaning a house, tending to animals, weeding a garden. They were a little extra help. They made a blackberry harvest taste sweeter. They helped decide the best time to let the pigs out to forage. Who was going to marry who? What day should you dig your well? So natural, so normal, the words were just a part of life. Almost like breathing. What her mother, Anwen the maid, had not called those words, was exactly what they decidedly were. Charms. Spells. Magic. But her mother had been dead these past ten years. So when Gwen sees the new boy in town using magic to save the Prince from a witch bent on revenge, she cannot believe her luck. Finally! A kindred spirit. Her other half.





	1. The New Boy in Town

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work where Gwen's mother was well versed in folk magic and taught it to her daughter. It's not quite like Merlin's kind of magic. It deals more in household tasks or problems, herblore, and fortune-telling. I kind of wrote it in response to not being able to find many Gwen-centric works. She was a character I was never particularly interested in, which is why I wanted to write this.  
> This is Gwen-centric, fairly character driven, and will feature Merlin's POV quite prominently as well. Anyway, this is more of an experiment than anything else. I just wanted to show Gwen a little love and attention. Sometimes, her quiet strength is overlooked.

Guinevere had become familiar with being a doppelgänger.

She was a maid, just like her mother before her. She had the same duties that her mother had performed every day. The same hair. The same eyes. Her father had said more and more each year that her voice was just like her mother's. Whenever she said something, anything really, he'd smile and shake his head. "You sound just like your mother." The little old man down the lane, who had lived there forever, now confused her with her mother every day. "Good day, Anwen!" He would call to her, gap-toothed but still smiling. And she would give him some sort of answer, probably the same as her mother did before her. Even her brother had said it when she had tried to stop him from doing something stupid; like climbing that dead tree, or picking fights, or leaving home. He had said: "You sound just like her. You're not mother!"

Even she had noticed it.

She was in the bustling kitchens of Camelot right now, looking down at her hands. Her mind had wandered. And now she had noticed. Her hands looked just like her mother's hands, thin and small but the fingers were long and strong. They were rough. Her mother's had been rough too, but warm. Guinevere's palm almost tingled as she remembered her mother drawing lines across her tiny hands with a strong finger, telling her that there were breaks in everybody's lines and that she should not worry herself about it. Hands reading her mirror image. Their hands had even had the same lines. It was almost as if her body was not hers. Was her mind even her own?

Someone knocked into her.

Guinevere started, gasped.

"You done with that?" A kitchen maid nodded at the cutting board.

"Oh!" She had just been standing there for however long, she couldn't remember, hands resting next to the herbs she had been cutting, knife slack in her hand. She had been daydreaming again. "Sorry. Almost done." Guinevere cleared her throat, blinking, and finished chopping up the ground apple she was preparing for an infusion. It was a bunch of fresh wild flowers that she had picked earlier today. She had spotted the tiny white and yellow blooms in a nearby meadow the other day and woke up early today to pick them for her lady. She then gathered the minced flowers into a white handkerchief, tied it, and hurried off. "I'm off." She mumbled to the kitchen maids, taking Lady Morgana's breakfast as she went.

The sun was just about risen by now. A rising sun and no clouds to be seen yet, just a haze over the hills as the cold, night-chilled lands began to heat in the sun's light. Guinevere paused here where she could see the sun. Feel its warmth on her face. The only difference between her and her mother was that she was alive and her mother had been dead these ten years or so. The memories were slipping away. And all that remained to remind Guinevere of her mother was, strangely enough, her own body.

Guinevere stirred herself, took a deep breath, then hurried up to her lady's chambers. She knocked softly then entered on the count of three. Of course, her lady was still abed. A lump shifted slightly under the thick blankets and a wash of dark hair was laid out over the white pillow.

"Good morning, Lady Morgana." Guinevere was gentle when she set the tray on the table and turned around, reaching for the curtains that covered the windows.

"Don't!"

Guinevere stopped. "My lady?"

"I am not… quite ready." Came the muffled, slow, and sleepy answer.

Guinevere found herself smiling then turned back to the breakfast on the table. "I'll just get that fire going again and make an infusion for you."

"Good…yes…do that… Infusion?"

"Yes." And Guinevere got to work. She stoked the waning coals from last night, added on more firewood from the little pile there, and got the flames good and hot. She filled a little pot with water from the bucket she'd brought up last night and hung the pot over the fire. Guinevere brushed off her hands and turned around. Her lady was finally sitting up in bed, watching her work.

"Good morning." Guinevere smiled at the sleepyhead-ed noblewoman, taking in the tangle of black hair she would have to tackle in a short while. So…many…knots…

"Ugh!" And Lady Morgana flopped backwards, back into her blankets, sighing. "How do you do it, Gwen! I can hardly move."

Gwen suppressed a snort. She could hardly move too in the mornings. She just didn't have a choice. But she answered properly. "I don't know, my lady."

"Come, Gwen, bring your sleep-clothes in here and we will go back to bed and pretend this day never happened." The lady spoke into her pillow the entire time.

That was it! Every morning it was the same. Every blessed morning! Gwen marched forward and tossed open the curtains. "Pretend this lovely day never happened?" She made sure the growing sunlight fell over the Lady Morgana.

"Mmm! I said I wasn't quite ready!" But Morgana sat up anyway, slow, and moaning.

"My mistake." Gwen hurried back over to the now boiling pot of water and took it off the hook, setting it on the stone floor with a light thud. She took the little handkerchief full of ground apple flowers and opened it.

"I had another dream last night."

Well then, it was lucky Gwen had noticed the white flowers yesterday. Gwen leaned over the ground apple and spoke a few words to the chopped flowers before dropping them in the hot water. She told them to do their work well and to taste sweet and to calm her lady's nerves. Spoke gently to them. Encouraging them. And then she left the herb to steep in the little pot. Fill everything and everyone you meet with love, her mother had always said.

"Did you, my lady?" Gwen asked. "Was it a normal dream, or…?" She left the question open ended. Lady Morgana rarely liked to talk about her dreams much less give the more terrifying and vivid ones a name. They were more than nightmares, Gwen suspected, more sinister. But she said nothing. Her thoughts were not her own to give. She got up from the stone floor, knees popping and other joints creaking a little. Stone floors could be so rude to your bones.

"It was horrible." Her lady whispered. "I remember little, save for the feeling of being so helpless… and hurt."

Gwen picked up the silver dish from the tray and brought it over to the bed, settling it in the blankets. "It's over now, my lady."

"Not inside my head."

Gwen took Morgana's hand in both of her own. That little hand was cold. "My lady-" She began.

The dark-haired woman, pale and wild-looking from a sleep that obviously had not given her any real rest, corrected her. "Morgana."

Gwen smirked. "My lady Morgana." She played dumb.

And then there was that smile. There was that curling at the corners of her lady's lips. Much better. "Guinevere." Her lady warned her. "Just Morgana…please."

"Morgana…" Gwen agreed, nodding, patting Morgana's small, feather-like hand within her own rough ones. She had to be gentle with this hand, she felt like the rough edges of her own might catch and tear Morgana's silky skin. She continued. "I have bread and honey for you and I braved the cook's wrath when I snuck a wee bit of the last of the whitty pear preserves. Now…" She tore off a bit of the bread and spooned some of the sweet fruit onto it. "Eat."

Lady Morgana took the bread from Gwen and ate it without a word. A slight frown. A pout. It wouldn't last long though. "Thank you, Gwen."

"You're welcome." Gwen smiled again and moved back to the little pot of hot water, cooling on the floor, now infused with ground apple flowers. "Now keep doing that while I finish making your drink."

She heard Morgana sigh behind her, but a shift in the blankets and the plate and spoon clinking told her the lady was now eating. Mouth obviously full, Morgana spoke again. "Is that the hot water that tastes of apples?"

"Yes, my lady."

A pause from her lady. "I rather liked it last time."

"That's good." Gwen took the white handkerchief and fitted it over a rough clay cup, holding it there with one hand.

Some more clinking. "It was very… well, it made me feel a little lighter, my mood was easier, maybe it was soothing?"

"It's meant to be." Gwen took the handle of the little pot in her other hand and poured the steaming water through the handkerchief and into the cup. The cloth caught all the chopped flowers and only the water passed through.

"Is it?"

Gwen set the pot down and straightened up again. "It's good for nerves." She handed the warm cup to Lady Morgana. "My mother made it for me all the time."

Morgana looked up at Gwen, smiling, and took the cup. "Did she?"

"It's called 'ground apple', my lady. 'Cause of the smell, and the taste." Gwen wiped her hands on her apron.

"Did your mother also mutter constantly while making it? Morgana took a small sip. "Oh it's still very hot! But I heard you over there, talking about something."

Gwen nodded, keeping a smile plastered on her face while doing so, while she worked out some words to explain herself. "Oh, that…" She laughed a little. Yes, act casual. Your mother had done it for so long, can't you too? "It was nothing…"

Her mother had called the little recitations 'prayers' or 'words of love'. Just things to say while you're preparing some food, or cleaning a house, tending to animals, weeding a garden. They were a little extra help. They made a blackberry harvest taste sweeter. They helped decide the best time to let the pigs out to forage. And so on and so forth. Who was going to marry who? What day should you dig your well? So natural, so normal, the words were just a part of life. Almost like breathing. What her mother, Anwen the maid, had not called those words, was exactly what they decidedly were. Charms. Spells. Magic.

"I was just thinking out loud about all my chores today, lots to do, what with…with the celebrations so soon. Cook's having a fit in the kitchens, needs everyone's help." Guinevere shrugged. "You know: help Cook, mend some maids' dresses, mend your dresses, gather firewood for guests' rooms, and so on."

"Oh, yes, that." Morgana began to frown again, staring down into her drink. "I don't think there needs to be any sort of feast tonight." And her gaze strayed to the window.

Gwen followed it. Oh… that. The execution.

Gwen's heart threatened to start aching at that tragedy. That poor man…

But there's no time. She took a deep breath. There's no time to cry over every helpless creature that was caught in a trap. Not when she had to make sure she wasn't caught in one herself.

"My lady." Gwen stepped over to the fire again and got the flames going good and hot. The room was becoming little warmer now. March was such a chill month, halfway between the life of spring and the stillness of winter. "Is there anything else you need for breakfast? By your leave, I'm going to go start airing out some of the guest chambers."

"As you like." Morgana waved her hand at Gwen, staring into her cup again. "Come back in an hour to help me dress."

"Thank you, my lady."

And she left to go shake out the dusty curtains she'd noticed the other day. Goodness knows they needed it. Too bad there weren't any charms to rid curtains of dust. Alas, she knew of none. This was one job she'd have to do by herself.

 

* * *

 

Of course she didn't get to all the guest chambers yesterday.

Gwen strained, reaching up as high as she could. The little stool she was on still wasn't enough. Wasn't tall enough. She got up on her tiptoes, wavering back and forth.

No of course not!  _That_  would have been too easy!

She grasped the edge of the curtain. Just a little further… There! The curtain came unhooked from the bracket there. And then she promptly lost her balance. The world spun.

This was the last chamber she had to air out and she was going to kill herself doing it!

The stool tipped to the side. Overturned. Gwen tumbled to the ground, tangled in the curtain. And now she had a big lungful of dust to deal with. But it had been a soft landing. Coughing, she pulled the cloth off her head and squinted up at the now bare window. The dust motes floated there lazily in the light. "Well…" She cleared her throat. "At least it's down now."

Of course Cook had to recruit her for the feast because there never were enough kitchen staff. Of course all the maids needed their dresses mended right that second. Of course Morgana had been in a foul mood after the execution. Gwen stood up, still coughing a little. She didn't blame the poor lady, but honestly, it didn't help that she had insisted that Gwen stay and chat for over three hours.

Gwen bundled up the curtain in her arms and walked back to the window. She flung the dirty curtain out of window, keeping two fistfuls tight in her hands, and began to shake. The cloud of dust that arose! Whew! Gwen had to stop and step back, blinking. The dust settled.

She could see down in to the courtyard where servants and guards passed through, carrying out daily tasks, preparing for the visit of Lady Helen. The Prince was down there on the green, training or practicing or something along those lines with his gaggle of fellow boys. Gwen began shaking the curtain again. She hesitated to call them men. Children, was probably the better word for that group. Some sort of target practice. Something to that nature. She let the curtain hang still for a moment. The Prince was throwing knives…at a servant. Good lord. Gwen sighed. The servant was behind the target, but obviously scared.

Who would not be scared. They are knives, flying at you, and very sharp!

And she knew that boy. Morris… Morris something. She'd brought his mother a remedy once, for achy joints.

And no one was helping!

Gwen had a mind to throw down her curtain right this second. March down there. Right now. And give those 'children' a talking to. Throwing knives! She ought to throw knives right back at him. She ought to-

Morris had tripped, the target fell out of his hands, and rolled to the feet of a village boy. And the black-haired boy put his foot on the target when poor Morris tried to pick it up again. Gwen squinted. Who was that?

The black-haired boy was saying something. The Prince and all the other 'children' all turned around.

God's teeth! Why couldn't she be down there and hear what was going on?

The Prince was walking towards the scrawny black-haired boy. Yes, that probably was not good. The boy held out his hand to the Prince, a handshake she supposed. Well, of course the Prince ignored that. They were still talking, face-to-face now. A couple more words exchanged. Gwen noticed that she herself was half hanging out of the window at this point. She reeled herself back in.

The village boy was walking away. No, the Prince had just said something else. And they were back to talking. Lovely. Oh, and now the Prince was challenging the boy. He held his arms out, big stupid grin on his face.

_Am I about to witness a murder?_

Of course the stupid boy tried something. He threw the worst punch Gwen had ever seen. And of course the Prince twisted the poor boy's arm behind his back. She cringed. That looked painful. It looked like something Elyan had tried on her when they were playing as children, or fighting, either way it had been about the same.

And soon enough a few guards came around and hauled the black-haired, scrawny village boy away. It was strange that she had not yet recognized him. She thought that she knew everyone in the city of Camelot, if not by name, then by face. At least someone had done something for Morris. Whoever he was, he was stupid and brave, or just stupidly brave. One of those.

 

* * *

  

The next day, the gossip in the kitchens was usually so banal and mundane that two of the maids were halfway through a conversation about the new boy in town who was in the stocks and how he'd stood up for Morris against the Prince and goodness was he funny with his big ears but kind of sweet-looking in a- God's Teeth they were talking about the dark-haired boy! Gwen resisted whirling around and strained her ears to catch heir words instead. The two maids did not say much else of worth. As usual. Too bad. She had hoped for a name. But, oh well. Cook needed some her knives sharpened and on the way to her father's blacksmith shop she would pass by the stocks. So convenient.

So when the gaggle of children, who had been hurling armloads of rotten fruit and vegetables at the boy in the stocks, finally tumbled off in search of more refuse, Gwen took her chance. She walked forward just as he was spitting out a seed or two. The maids were right. His ears were ridiculous. She got a good and long look at them when he looked up at her. He probably thought she had something to throw at him too.

She smiled down at him. "I'm Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen." Actually, most people called her 'Anwen', but she was not at a desperate enough point to start introducing herself as her own mother. He was looking a little confused. She continued. "I'm the Lady Morgana's maid."

The dark-haired boy squinted up at her. "Right. I'm Merlin." And he stretched and held out a shackled, seed and marrow-covered hand to her to shake."

Charming. Gwen took his hand and shook it. Absolutely charming. Also a little slimy.

He went on. "Although, most people just call me 'Idiot'." His frown was small but Gwen saw it. Or she heard it in his words. One or the other. She knew she would not specifically call him 'idiot'… 'Simpleton' might have been a better word. But no matter.

Gwen shook her head. "No, no, no, I saw what you did. It was so brave."

"It was stupid." If he could have shrugged, he probably would have.

It was stupid. But good. Poor Morris had needed the help. "Well, I'm glad you walked away." Gwen had been relieved that the Prince had not mashed the boy to a pulp. The Prince was notorious for being a competent fighter. She smirked a little. "You weren't going to beat him." Honestly, though, what had Merlin been thinking when he had started mouthing off to the much larger man?

Merlin the Idiot was grinning. "Oh, I- I can beat him."

Yes, definitely an idiot now.

Gwen could not help but notice that the boy's wrists were almost thin enough that he could just about slip his hands out of the stocks. "You think?" She did not dare point that out specifically. Or mention that fact that it looked like a good stiff breeze might catch him the wrong way and carry him off and over the trees. Insult to injury and whatnot. But she could not help but comment. "Because you don't look like one of those big, muscle-y kind of fellows."

It took him a hilarious moment before he quite puzzled out what she said. Merlin's face fell. "Thanks." He looked quite put out.

Drat. "No!" That may have been too rude. "No, I'm sure you're stronger than you look." Yes, dig your hole a little deeper, Gwen. Soon you'll have a grave. "It's just, erm… Arthur's one of those rough, tough, save the world kind of men, and… well…" This was the reason she usually kept her mouth shut and smiled and nodded. She was a little too honest sometimes.

"What?"

Well, he asked. "You don't look like that." She shook her head.

Merlin the Idiot looked around a moment, looking for others close by. What is he doing? Then he motioned, as best as he could, for her to come in closer. She did. He whispered. "I'm in disguise."

For a moment, one sweet strange moment she believed exactly what he said. She was not sure why. Maybe something about the way he said it. Maybe he said it so well because he believed it himself. But when the small smile at the corners of his mouth began to show itself, she could not help but laugh with him. But mostly she was laughing at herself. Gullible Gwen. It's what Elyan and his friends had called her. For far too long.

But Gwen cleared her throat and sighed. "Well, it's great that you stood up to him."

"What? You think so?" A little spark there, right there in his eyes, told her she had finally said something right.

She nodded, fanning that spark hopefully. "Arthur's a bully, and everyone thought you were a real hero."

"Oh, yeah?" That spark grew into another grin.

"Mm-hmm." She smiled back. Lord, he was infectious.

But his smile faded and he sighed. "Oh, excuse me, Guinevere." Merlin was looking off to the side. Gwen noticed that the children from before had returned. He pointed to the children, as best as he could, and their new harvest of rotten produce. "My fans are waiting."

Gwen hurried past, but could not keep the smirk from her face, leaving Merlin the Idiot to his dear fans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RESEARCH NOTES
> 
> "Ground apple" is an older term for Chamomile, a wild flower that reportedly smells similar enough to apples that it earned that name. Chamomile has been used for quite a while to calm nerves.
> 
> Whitty pear is another term for a Service Tree, the fruit of which is used in preserves around this time.


	2. Cut From the Same Cloth

After talking to Merlin at the stocks, the day passed by slowly amid many tasks and chores that kept Guinevere up until the early hours. So the next morning, dragging her body out of her warm bed was a chore itself. Before she even opened her eyes, she could tell it was going to be a cold morning. There was a distinct contrast between the warm blankets of her bed and the chill air outside of her wonderful blankets. Something scratched her nose.

Guinevere reached up out of the blankets, hesitating, and found one of the sprigs of dried thyme that she had stuffed under her pillow the night before. Thyme was good for sleep and keeping nightmares at bay. And it did. It had kept any uneasy dreams away that night. Something itched her head. Gwen reached back and scratched. She froze. Then sighed. The real nightmare was how all of the thyme had found its way from underneath her pillow and tangled in her hair.

Slightly late and still combing dried thyme leaves from her hair, Guinevere hurried from her father's house and flat out ran to the castle. The streets were mostly empty. Mostly. Speeding up the cobblestones in her dress and petticoat probably looked a little funny. The few people that she passed by made silly comments about her being late or something like that.

And the old man out for his morning stroll raised a hand and called to her. "Good morn, Anwen!", he said.

Gwen tried to smile at him as she ran, huffing and puffing, and panting out a hasty "Good morning!"

Finally, she was trotting up to the castle gates and passed through with a smile and a nod to the guards.

"Mornin', Gwen." They said.

"Good morn, sirs!" She called over her shoulder, already inside the castle walls and hurrying to the kitchens.

Guinevere crossed the courtyard as quick as she could, clutching a stitch in her side and breathing hard. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and the castle was filled with that early morning grey light. Everything looked fresh and new as the light slowly warmed from a those cool blues tones to a rich golden. Guinevere ducked into the kitchens.

"Late!"

Good morn, cook, Guinevere thought sourly. She straightened out her skirts as the cook, or rather the old red-haired woman in charge of the kitchens, approached her from across the bustling kitchen.

She barely listened, holding back a dozen or so yawns and finding some more thyme in her hair, as the cook rattled off a list of chores that needed to be done once she had finished attending to the Lady Morgana and to not dawdle because there was a very grand and special dinner tonight for the King and the Lady Helen and absolutely nothing must go wrong and are you even listening, girl!

Guinevere started. "Yes." She smiled. "Yes, I am."

"Good." The cook squinted at her. "You've got stuff in your hair."

Guinevere almost rolled her eyes. She satisfied herself by imagining that she did so.

Cook continued. "The Lady Morgana's morning meal is there on the table. Take it on up! Get on!" And the cook waved her hand and dove back into the kitchen's activity.

Guinevere swallowed her frown and took the meal, leaving the hot, loud kitchen and padding through the cool, dark, and quiet castle on her way to Lady Morgana's chambers.

The day had barely began and Guinevere was already feeling overwhelmed.

Guinevere knew that she had to bring up some more firewood for Lady Morgana's hearth and several buckets of water for her bath. That needed to be done today, and since the whole castle was abuzz with activity, there was no one to help her. In addition to that, she had promised a remedy or two to some of the midwives in the Lower Town. They had remembered a specific ointment that her mother had made for chapped hands. So she had to work on remembering how exactly her mother had made it. She knew there was beeswax in it. But what else? Maybe her father remembered. When she had free time. She didn't have a lot of free time these days. And of course, she still had a few of the kitchen girls asking her to mend their frocks. They wanted her to use that pretty red thread that she usually used for the Lady Morgana's red gowns and that she had to use in a pinch for little Mary's torn frock a week ago because she had just run out of the plain thread that day and she had substituted with that lovely red thread. And now all the girls were asking for it and Guinevere unhappily suspected that some had intentionally ripped their dresses in order for them to be mended with the pretty red thread. So far she had not had the heart to tell them no. She had put off that conversation. So much to do. So much.

"I had another nightmare last night."

Guinevere started. How long had she been kneeling and staring into the fire here? She stood and brushed off her apron. "My lady?"

Morgana, staring at the floor, put another piece of bread smothered in honey in her mouth and chewed slowly. "I had another of my nightmares, it was horrible." Guinevere watched the woman shudder a little and push aside her plate. "I can't keep living like this."

That was not a good thing to say. Her lady should not be saying that.

Guinevere walked to the Lady Morgana, who sat at her little hand-carved table, and knelt beside her lady's chair. She did not know what to say just yet. In fact, she never really knew quite what to say. It hurt her heart that Lady Morgana would ever feel this way, so helpless and lost. She had to fix it. But she did not know how to fix it. So she took the lady's small hand, which lay in her lap, and held it within her own for a moment.

Guinevere knew she should say something.

I should say something comforting, but true. No lies. Something to make the lady braver.

She stroked the small, white hand and stared down at the thin fingers and blue veins therein. "My lady," Guinevere began. She paused. Then began again. "You should not let them trouble you. They are nothing. Just dreams."

The Lady Morgana gave a shaky laugh, scoffing, but let Guinevere keep stroking her hand. "How can I? When I fear to sleep now. And when I do sleep, I wake screaming and weeping." She then took one of Guinevere's hands in her own and squeezed, hard. "Last night, I dreamt of some evil thing, slithering underneath the castle. Just waiting there. And I could do nothing. I just walked about, knowing it was there, every day. It was torture. I could hear its whispers from underneath." She let go of Guinevere's hand. "I cannot shake it. I still feel as though there lives something horrible beneath my feet, and I wait for it to spring out at me."

Guinevere suppressed a shudder herself. What her lady had described sounded awful. Perhaps this was something that infusions of ground apple or sprigs of thyme could not keep at bay. Perhaps they should go back to the other methods… "Should I ask Gaius to make more of your sleeping draft?" She asked.

"No!"

Guinevere started.

Lady Morgana took away her hands. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just-" She wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry, Gwen. I detest it. It helps, but I feel so distant and fuzzy the day after…I don't feel myself."

Guinevere nodded. She watched her lady, waiting to see if there was more. Her lady remained silent, staring down at her own hands now, back hunched over and eyes closed. Guinevere stayed where she was though, kneeling on the floor there. There must be something that could be done to help with these night terrors that left the Lady Morgana so shaken. Something more than a draught to make her sleep or little charms murmured over herbs. Something different…

"There must be something we can do." She murmured.

"There is nothing." Lady Morgana shrugged, hair hanging down, curtaining around her pale face.

"My lady." Her lady's hair was still so tangled and messy from sleep, but Guinevere reached up and tucked back her lady's hair behind one ear. "You have been brave for so long. These visions have not broken you yet, right? And I know they won't. I have faith in you."

Lady Morgana smiled and hiccuped a little, tears in her eyes again. "They are just dreams, Gwen, bad dreams."

Guinevere smiled back. "They are ten times more frightening than what any man would meet on a battlefield, and yet, here you are. Waking up, alive, strong, every day. And trying again every night. You are the bravest person I know."

"Good gods, Gwen!" The Lady Morgana rolled her eyes then wiped her nose on her sleeve. But she leaned down and wrapped her arms about Guinevere. "Thank you."

Guinevere hugged back. "We'll find something to help you, my lady. And I am always here, every morning, every night. I promise."

And they stayed like that for a while, embracing, and silent. Until Lady Morgana sniffed loudly. "You smell lovely, Gwen."

Guinevere closed her eyes. Her hair probably still smelled of thyme. She smiled. "Thank you, my lady."

The lady corrected her. "Morgana."

"Lady Morgana."

"Gwen." The lady warned.

Gwen grinned. "Thank you, Morgana."

They spent the rest of the morning discussing the dream and Guinevere could see Lady Morgana relax more and more as they spoke of it. Guinevere tried to talk practically about the nightmare, since the lady seemed to attach so much emotion to it. Guinevere's thinking was that if the lady could just let that emotion go and talk about what she saw, then maybe it wouldn't frighten her so much. It worked this time. Her lady was laughing and smiling again by the end of breakfast. But to be honest, as Guinevere sat on the bed and smiled over some joke that her lady had just made about one of the knights, she was also slow to leave those chambers due to all the chores that cook and others had ready for her as soon as she finished here. And she dreaded that. But, eventually, she could put it off no longer.

An hour or so after leaving the Lady Morgana to pick out a gown to wear to the feast tomorrow night, Guinevere found herself trotting through the castle gates and into the town to gather some supplies for the cook. She had gotten stuck in the kitchens chopping things and turning things and all sorts of things. She felt exceedingly sweaty and the cool air outside of the kitchens was a blessing. Guinevere panted as she walked. Cook had told her to hurry and hurry she would. The faster she could finish this, the faster she could get back to her lady. Guinevere entered the market. So cook needed-

A crash.

Guinevere froze.

She saw a scuffle out of the corner of her eye.

What is it now? She sighed and moved closer.

A flash of black hair…and a flash of blonde. Guinevere craned her neck over the crowd. It was Prince Arthur. The figures moved past a stall and she could see more clearly. And Merlin! The Prince and Merlin the Idiot were tussling again, only his time, with real weapons! Maces! God's Teeth, did anyone want to actually live? Did everyone have some sort of death wish she did not know about, or was it only these two morons?

Guinevere stood there with the rest of the small crowd, a basket on her arm and a frown on her lips, watching. It was just like either of these two children to pull something like this, she admitted, watching some stalls get destroyed in the fight. To completely disregard the needs or belongings of others. Besides, there were people in the market who needed to buy things, such as herself, and these two idiots were delaying her. She had things to do today. She had a schedule. And she had a mind to step in soon if no one else did.

Merlin was tripping over everything but he finally went down and the Prince moved in for the kill. Or something? Was he actually going to kill someone? He was not hesitating.

Gwen bit her lip and took a step forward. Those maces looked dangerous.

And then a flash of gold. She blinked. The hooks behind the Prince moved by themselves. And the Prince's mace was tangled in them.

Guinevere's heart stopped.

And just like that… She was not alone anymore in the world. There was someone else. Someone like her.

Her mother's voice floated through her mind, the voice she could hear every time she said a spell or picked an herb or read a palm, the voice that had taught her everything there was to know about magic. The voice that she had listened to every day, at her mother's side, learning. The voice that had said, after Guinevere's first dowsing spell to find water, "You can do it too, just like me. We're cut from the same cloth, sweet thing." And then she got a hug and a sweet cake. The memory faded.

And the rest of the world disappeared for a moment or an hour or days and Guinevere was lost. Her vision funneled down to a point. Formed a tunnel. And at the end of that tunnel was a flash of gold.

'I'm in disguise.' Had he been joking or telling the truth? Or both?

No more hiding. No more fear.

We're cut from the same cloth, sweet thing.

These thoughts flew through her head in slow motion as she watched the rest of the fight. Merlin kept dodging the Prince's attacks, a big stupid grin on his face and his eyes flashing gold again and again. A box moved by itself and smacked the Prince's shins. A rope tripped the Prince of its own accord. But the Prince bested him eventually. Guinevere winced as Arthur beat Merlin with a broomstick. And the fight was over. Guinevere could hardly contain herself.

And before she could grab Merlin's arm and never let go, before she could smack him on the cheek, before she could kiss him with happiness, the Court Physician whisked his nephew away and Gwen had lost her chance. She watched the two, physician and young man, swallowed up by the crowd and disappearing. Gwen stood where she was. There would be other chances. Other chances to pour her heart out. Other chances to speak with another that was cut from the same cloth as her. But she would have to wait a little longer. If waiting without hope was a crushing ordeal, waiting with hope was ten times as worse. Her heart positively quivered and her body tingled. She felt like she was floating as she walked.

You know, Gwen thought to herself, it really is a wonder Merlin the Idiot had any fans at all, at the rate he is making enemies.

Left and right, he seemed to be quite skilled in making anyone angry. The Court Physician had been complaining to the castle staff about his difficult-to-handle nephew. The Prince was complaining to his servants about the annoying midge of a boy that challenged him the other day. And the list could go on. But now Gwen could safely say that she could count herself as one of his biggest fans. The moment she became one was the moment she saw him use magic to tangle the Prince's ball and chain mace in some hooks hanging nearby. She saw the flash of gold in his eyes and the hooks move by themselves. And that was it. She was hooked herself.

* * *

She did not sleep that night.

She was vibrating all the next day.

Guinevere had to tell him as soon as she saw him. She had to say something or else she would burst into flames or wilt like a flower.

Gods Teeth!

Gwen marched down the hall towards her lady's chambers, gritting her teeth and saying things under her breath that she would not, could not, utter to another soul. Curses and promises and strange words she did not know the meaning of but they had been things that her mother would say when angry or frustrated or sorrowful or delirious. The Lady Morgana was trying on gowns for the feast that night and Guinevere was rushing back to help her with them.

Cook had finally released her. Finally! She had chopped all the vegetables wrong and spilled several things and dropped a whole plucked chicken on the floor before the cook had her thrown out. In Guinevere's defense, her mind was busy with thoughts of golden eyes and dark-haired boys.

The next time she saw the boy named Merlin she would tell him everything and ask him about his magic too. She swore it. She swore and swore it. Nothing would stop her. Nothing could stop her. After years of being alone, she had to do it. He would understand.

After his little display yesterday with the maces she could not close her eyes last night. She laid with her eyes wide open the entire night, a rushing in her ears, tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She replayed what she had seen in the marketplace in her mind's eye. Over and over and over again. Nothing could stop her from being so unbearably happy and terrified.

Merlin. The stupid boy from a tiny village in the middle of nowhere came to Camelot, grinned in her face, and spoke with her so calmly while sitting in the public stocks. And this boy had magic. The same as her. The same as her mother. It was all she could do to keep from laughing as she strode through the castle. Or crying. So she was resolved. She would tell him as soon as she saw him next. Nothing would stop her. No force on this green earth would stand in her way. No, sir. She walked around the corner.

And there he was.

Standing in the middle of the Lady Morgana's chambers, his back to her. But she could recognize that mop of black hair and plain brown jacket anywhere.

"Gwen?" Her lady's voice.

Guinevere nearly choked. She swallowed hard, forcing her throbbing heart back down her throat. "I am here." She answered.

Merlin whirled around.

Gwen frowned and opened her mouth.

Merlin pointed back at the screen, behind which, her lady was dressing. He shrugged.

Gwen nodded, closing her mouth again.

Merlin grinned.

And in a moment, he was gone.

Guinevere certainly felt like crying now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belief in traditional European (mostly early British) folklore is that sprigs of thyme can be placed underneath the pillow at night to prevent nightmares. It was also believed that thyme was conducive to sleep or courage. Thyme is originally a Mediterranean herb, brought to Europe (and Britain) by the Romans.


	3. I Stood Lonely Enough

"I'm sorry, my lady!" Guinevere picked up her skirts.

Morgana poked her head out from behind the dressing screen. "What?"

Guinevere flew out of Morgana's chambers. "I'll be right back!"

"Gwen?!"

"Be right back!" Guinevere called over her shoulder, closing the chamber door behind her. There was no time for crying now, she had to do something. Something!

"Merlin?" She called and spun around in the corridor. Where had he gone?

Ah! She spotted him. Just down the corridor a ways, disappearing into a small crowd of giggling kitchen maids.

"Stop! Uh- Merlin!"

He looked around. Didn't see her.

Guinevere waved. "Merlin!"

Finally, he spotted her, and came jogging back down the corridor to meet her. "Hullo, Gwen." He had that big grin on his face and was a little breathless. "Thanks." He nodded behind her. "For helping me back there."

"Oh, it's nothing, really." Guinevere took hold of the young man's wrist. She would not let him get away so easily this time. "Um, Merlin? Could we talk, for a moment?"

He looked down at her hand, gripping his wrist, then back up at her. "Uh, sure." Merlin nodded. "I've got some chores for Gaius in a bit, but I s'pose he can wait."

"Won't be long." Guinevere looked around, spotted a nearby narrow and quiet corridor, and began pulling Merlin towards it. He let her.

Once the chatter had died down and they were a little more alone, she spoke again. "There's something that I-…" Guinevere bit her lip. "Sorry." She tried starting again, wondering why this had suddenly become so hard. "Merlin, when I-" She sighed and laughed. What had happened to all her resolve? Guinevere looked away and let go of Merlin's wrist, using that hand to rub one of her eyes.

What was she going to say? It had all flown out of her head once she had got him over here, alone, listening. Think, Guinevere, think!

Merlin was looking curiously down at her now, a slight smile at the corners of his lips and in the way light was caught in his eyes. He might as well be laughing at her.

This was her chance to bear herself to another of her own kind. And Guinevere had never really imagined that it could happen one day. But here he was, standing before, looking more and more amused by the moment.

She opened her mouth again. Nothing came out. You fool! You foolish fool! Say something, just say something!

He leaned down a little, smirking. "Spit it out, Gwen."

Guinevere smacked his shoulder and tried to smile as well. "I'm getting there!"

He grinned and stepped back. "Is it something you need help with? A chore, or something?"

Guinevere shook her head. No, she was not going to play 'Guess What Gwen Wants' right now. 'Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral, Gwen?' Say it. Just say it.

She took a deep breath. "I saw you fighting with the Prince."

Merlin frowned a little, crossed his arms, and leaned on the wall of the corridor. "Yeah, you said so before. When I was in the stocks, remember?"

"No, no." Guinevere stared at him, kept her eyes there upon his own, because if she faltered now she might give up and run away. No, she had to do this. "I saw you, in the market, fighting with him again."

"Oh." He rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, I guess it was pretty silly." He sighed. "But Gaius has already lectured me about it, so if you're gonna-" He was turning to go.

"No!" Guinevere grabbed his arm again. "Sorry, no, what I mean is…"

"Yes?" He looked down at her.

Looked at her with eyes that had flashed gold only yesterday, eyes that had told her she wasn't alone anymore. Cut from the same cloth. How was it she felt the most akin to a stranger she had only met a few days before, felt more related to him than she did to any of the people she had known her whole life? How?

"Merlin, I saw you do magic." Guinevere whispered. "You used it…a-and you moved those hooks to catch the Prince's mace, and-"

"Gwen!" Merlin hissed, interrupting her. He had gone quite pale and he was shaking his head, eyes wide. "Ahm, no, Gwen-" He was looking around, as though someone might be listening to them.

Guinevere tried to speak over him, if she could just get all the words out, he'd understand. " And then- Then there was a rope- And you moved that, and-"

"Gwen!" He was shushing her.

"And that box moved- all by itself!"

Merlin took her by the shoulders, holding her still. "Gwen!" He whispered again, his voice hoarse. He licked his lips, paused for a moment, then continued. "I didn't do any magic. I didn't do anything."

Of course he'd deny it, Guinevere reasoned. She just had to tell him that she could do magic too and that she meant him no harm. Of course he was scared. She was scared too. She was so scared. "But I saw-"

"Gwen…" Merlin opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking her straight in the eyes. Guinevere waited patiently, staring back. Merlin sighed and eventually his eyes slid away from hers. "You have to believe me. I didn't do anything, didn't do any magic. You can't just-"

"Merlin, I know because I-"

"-Say things like that. You just can't." He was walking away.

"Merlin, wait!" Guinevere reached for his arm.

He twisted out of her grasp, like a fish wriggling out of a net, fast and sure. "I've got to go."

"Merlin!" She stood at the entrance to the little corridor I'm they had been speaking in, standing there, watching him walk away. "Wait!" He slipped in between the shoulders of other servants, beginning to disappear into the crowd.

Guinevere started to follow, holding the edge of her skirts in one hand and using the other to push herself through the crowd. She followed as quickly as she could, but for every step she took, he seemed to take three. And he was soon gone. Where had he gone? Guinevere stopped in the middle of the corridor and sighed, holding back something that felt like a sob. He was gone. She would have to try again, soon. But for now, the Lady Morgana was waiting for her. She had to return.

* * *

 

Guinevere turned around and began making her way back to her lady, climbed the spiral stairs, and entered the chambers again.

"My lady?" She called softy, closing the door behind her.

"Gwen, you are back." The lady poked her head out from behind the dressing screen again, smiling. "Are you well?"

"Mmhmm." Guinevere nodded and picked up the several dresses that Lady Morgana had tossed upon her bed in her search for a gown for the feast. She gently laid them over her arm. "Just had to ask a passing kitchen girl about something that the cook needed me to do."

The lady's voice sounded a little strained as she answered. "You rushed away…I thought something was…wrong."

Guinevere frowned. What was the lady doing behind that screen? "I'm just fine." Guinevere stepped closer."Are you well?"

"Oh, yes." Lady Morgana was a little breathless. "I just- Well…"

Guinevere peeked behind the screen.

The Lady Morgana was struggling with the laces of a very lovely, shimmering silk yellow gown. The laces were cross-crossed in an intricate pattern down the back and the lady could not quite reach them, especially since the long sleeves of the gown were so tight as to keep the lady from stretching her arms back very far at all. Guinevere smiled and hopped a little, reaching to throw the gowns over the edge of a the tall screen to free her hands, and came forward to help her lady.

"May I?" She asked.

"Please." Lady Morgana laughed a little. "I thought maybe I could do it myself, but alas, no."

"Did you think you could will it on?" Guinevere straightened the silk laces that held the back of the dress together and began tie them. "We'll have it on in a moment, my lady."

"Thank you, Gwen. I was hoping to scold it into submission." Once done with the silk laces, the Lady Morgana stepped back from Guinevere and looked down at herself, twirling a little. "What do you think?"

Truth be told, it was a very lovely dress. But yellow was such a trying color. Guinevere nodded. "It's lovely, my lady."

The lady sighed. "You always say that." She pointed at one of the gowns that Guinevere had hung along the top of the dressing screen. "Let me try that one again."

Guinevere brought the gown down and the process continued. The lady tried on a dress, asked for an opinion, and moved on. It was a simple little ritual that took place before every feast. Very familiar. Very normal. And so contrary to how Guinevere felt right now.

Everything inside her was so topsy-turvy, all the tumbling pieces of her life, familiar and yet very wrong, sharp edges and loud.

She had thought that once she talked to Merlin, confessed to him, that something new and exciting would begin in her. But she was still stuck in the same place, doing the same things, as the same person. Except everything was slightly off. And the same familiarity that once she took comfort in was now repulsive and abrasive.

She was still Guinevere, mostly known as Gwen, and more often known as Anwen. More often confused for her mother. More often known as someone else.

Guinevere watched her hands from afar as they buttoned up the back of a green gown, the verdant velvet slowly swallowing up her lady's creamy pale shoulderblades. Watched her hands and kept forgetting that they were not her mother's hands.

Even she confused herself for someone else. Why could not she simply be herself?

Her mind's eye flashed to the blink of golden eyes and Merlin's retreating back when he had practically run away from her. He thought she was just some servant girl who may report him and his magic to the authorities. A servant girl… But was not that what she was? She was a girl. She was a servant. What made her so special that she deserved to be thought of as something else?

Thoughts back to her mother, Anwen, the hardworking maid, the sweet woman, the servant girl. What did Guinevere have that her mother did not? What gave Guinevere the right to call herself better than what her mother was?

"Gwen?"

Anwen never told anyone about her skills with magic, why did Guinevere think she could.

"Gwen!"

But then, her mother had been so happy to learn that Guinevere had the same skills. She had been so happy. So happy to learn that she was no longer alone. So happy to know that there was another with which she could share her secret.

I have that same chance, Guinevere realized. I must not let it slip away. I will not.

"Gwen!"

Guinevere started. What was-

The Lady Morgana turned around and took her by the shoulders, laughing softly. "Have you been listening to me at all?" She peered into Guinevere's face, smiling.

"Oh, my lady, I'm sorry." Guinevere lowered her eyes. She had gotten so lost in thought she had forgotten what she was doing. "I just-…I mean… I must have-"

"Now that I have your attention." The lady turned around again, showing her back. "Would you please unbutton it? I do not particularly like the cut of this gown. Not for the feast tonight."

"Yes, of course." Guinevere attacked the long line of buttons again, undoing them as fast she could. "I'm sorry, my lady."

"Morgana." The lady corrected her. "It had the same number of syllables as 'my lady', Gwen, and it is just as easy to say."

Guinevere smiled as she worked. The Lady Morgana was kind enough to think of her maid as more of a friend than a servant. It was nice. But Guinevere did not feel safe becoming used to it. One slip up at the wrong time and she could be in serious trouble for disrespect. The Lady Morgana could think of her maid as a friend without any sort of scandal, but if a maid thought the same of her lady, then there would be problems. There had to be a little distance, and as painful as it might be, it was necessary.

"I know, My Lady Morgana." Guinevere answered, trying to be diplomatic.

The lady sighed. "As you wish."

"Which gown would you like to try next?" Guinevere was almost done with the long line of buttons and she hoped that the next dress did not have as many fastenings as this one.

The lady moved away, shrugging off the green dress and letting it slide to the stone floor, where it gathered like a shimmering puddle of soft moss. "What is bothering you? You have been so distracted of late." She daintily stepped out of that dress on the floor and reached, taking another from the edge of the screen where they hung.

"Nothing is bothering me." Guinevere took the gown she was handed and began helping the lady put it on.

"You are lying." Morgana pulled her hair out of the back of her dress and combed her fingers through it slowly. "You cannot lie to me. Is it a boy?"

Guinevere froze. She knew.

A moment passed. Oh, the lady meant… Well, she meant a boy, in a different way. No, it wasn't a boy, not really.

"Aha!" The lady clapped her hands. "It is a boy. Who? Tell me, now."

"No, uh, my lady." Guinevere stepped out from behind the screen, retreating as casually as she could. "It's not a boy, not like that. Of course not."

"Ah ah ah!" The Lady Morgana followed her, a large grin on her face.

Guinevere could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "That gown looks lovely, my lady, I believe that it is the one you should wear to the feast."

It was of a beautiful, deep red color. The collar of the gown was fastened at the lady's neck by a thick and intricate gold chain, leaving her shoulders and back fairly exposed. It was only so beautiful due to the fact that someone so pretty was wearing it.

Guinevere thought a moment, running through her mind the jewelry that the lady possessed. "And your gold circlet would compliment it all very nice-"

"Gwen! Do not try to change the subject. You always do that." But then the lady looked down at her dress, saw how it fit upon her slim and graceful frame, and nodded. "Yes, well, it does look perfect, but I already knew that. No, you cannot escape me. I will seek out his name for as long as it takes to get it from you."

"There is nothing to get from me." Guinevere insisted.

She could hardly imagine having the time to court a boy, let alone actually having the time. She woke before the sun and went to bed well after it had set. When would she have time for a sweetheart, or a husband for that matter? Besides, she had her father's home to sleep in and her own hard-earned wages to spend. She had all she could possibly want. Well, almost all. Merlin was still an issue…

I do have a husband, my lady, his name is 'Employment' and he keeps me very well indeed.

Guinevere was tempted to say this as she looked over the lady's chambers. There were still some things to do before the day's end. Before they attended the feast. Firewood to gather, water to haul for a bath, candles to replace, curtains to dust, and more.

"That is what you think." The lady went to her little mirror and inspected her reflection. "It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but I will not rest until I know the name of your beloved." She turned and smirked at Guinevere, who was across the room. "Mark my words."

"Consider them marked." Guinevere kept her small sigh to herself.

Her beloved? God's teeth, what nonsense! Perhaps this desire to find out Guinevere's fake sweetheart may distract her lady from the night terrors she suffered from. She bent and stoked the small fire with the poker, sparks flitting about, and added a few more logs to keep the flames going.

Lady Morgana lay half on her bed, her feet planted on the floor, and her hair splayed out on the messy sheets. "Let me start to guess."

Please don't.

"Is it…" The lady hummed a moment, obviously thinking. "Gaius' new assistant? The new boy? I think his name is… Martin?"

"Merlin." Guinevere corrected.

"Aha!" The lady sat up.

There was a knock at the door.

Guinevere looked to her lady and Lady Morgana nodded silently. So she walked to the door and opened it just a crack.

A serving boy stood there, panting. Guinevere knew him. She did know him. What was his name again? He was very young and had just started working in the kitchens. Lived with his aunt. Parents were gone. Poor little thing. Ah, she remembered. His name was Osgar, or as the kitchen maids had started calling him, "Ossie".

Guinevere smiled down at him. "What can I do for you, Osgar?" She made sure to use his actual name.

The brown-haired, freckled, and very short boy rubbed his dirty nose and looked up at her. "Uh, yeah, are you Anwen?" He asked.

Names were a funny thing.

Guinevere shook her head. "No, I'm Gwen, but sometimes-"

"Oh, they tol' me to find Anwen, sorry." Osgar turned about headed back down the corridor.

"Wait, wait!" Guinevere followed him, shutting her lady's chamber door behind her. Osgar stopped. "What is it?" She asked. "Does the Audrey need me, the cook?"

The boy shook his head. "Just sent me to find Anwen." He began to run off again.

"I am Anwen!" Guinevere swallowed her pride and set aside her own name. "I'm Anwen." Guinevere hurried forward, took the boy by both of his shoulders, and held him there lest he try to run away again. If she was missed in the kitchens, there would be hell for her to pay. Audrey, the head cook, was an unforgiving woman. "What do they need down there?" She demanded.

"You sure?" He squinted up at her. "I don't want Anger-rad-dreez to yell at me again."

"Audrey." Guinevere corrected. "Though calling her 'Anger' feels right too."

"What?"

The cook's real name was too strange for most people to remember every time it was needed. "Anger-rad-dreez", or Angharad Rhys, as Guinevere had seen it spelled in the royal ledgers, was from the lands to the west and had a strange accent to go along with her strange name. It would be better if the boy got used to just calling her "Audrey", everyone else did it. So instead of "Awn-gar-rad-dreez" it was shortened to "Aw-dree". It had been that way since Guinevere could remember. She knew the strange name well; Angharad and her mother had been good friends.

"Call her 'Audrey', everyone does." Guinevere kneeled down in front of the boy in order to be at his eye level. "Now, what does the cook want with Anwen- With me?"

"She says…" He looked upwards in thought for a moment, frowning. Guinevere swore she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "She says… that Anwen needs to get her arse in the kitchen or the goo-leth will be ruined and it'll be her fault. What's a goo-leth?"

"Feast," Guinevere smiled. "She means feast. Please tell her I'll be down there soon." And she let go of Osgar."

"Tell her that Anwen's coming, right?" He took a few steps backwards, scratching his head.

"Yes."

"Got it." And he ran off back down the corridor, disappearing around a corner.

Guinevere stayed there on the floor, kneeling, a moment or so longer then finally got up. She felt her knees click a little. Every year she was a little slower getting up from these stone floors. She went back into her lady's chambers and closed the door gently behind her.

"What was that?" The lady was by her mirror again, fumbling with some jewelry.

Guinevere hurried forward, taking the clasp of the circlet in the Lady Morgana's hands, and began fastening it around the lady's brow. "Oh, nothing." She murmured. "Kitchens need me soon, my lady."

"They always need you. But I need you too." The lady huffed. "It is not very polite to take a lady's maid away."

"I will not be long." Guinevere finished with the circlet and circled around the lady. It looked lovely on that pale forehead, nestled Morgana's shining, dark hair. "Beautiful." She smiled at the lady.

Lady Morgana grinned back, a little more color in those cheeks than before. "Thank you, Gwen. Now get along, and be back long enough before the feast so you can help me bathe and dress properly."

"I will." And Guinevere hurried off to the kitchens.

* * *

 

It was hot down there.

Guinevere wiped her brow, catching a rare, cool breath when she leaned away from the fire. That was a welcome relief. But she could only rest a moment. She stooped and leaned back in, grasping the spit handle with a rag and began turning the goose again. If the bird wasn't properly cooked on all sides, Audrey the cook may stick Guinevere herself on the spit and roast her too.

That would not be pleasant.

Guinevere, as she worked, craned her neck and took a look behind at all the hubbub. The kitchen maids ran to and fro, carrying empty dishes in one direction, returning in the other direction with full bowls and dishes and plates. Candied fruits and nuts flew by, followed by parades of pastries and cakes, and every so often a platter of some meat would march by, be it a roast or a leg or a haunch, surrounded by garnishes of turnips and beets and carrots. And everybody yelled. Not a single word was spoken or civil. It was all a raging war of food and fury.

"Anwen!"

Guinevere started. Looked around. Someone was calling for her.

"Anwen! The bird?"

And suddenly the face of the cook was right there. Yelling. Asking about a bird.

Oh, God's teeth! The goose! You idiot.

Guinevere looked back at the bird that she was turning over the kitchen fire. It seemed to be doing well. Another turn or so told Guinevere that it was cooking evenly.

She looked back to the cook, who had gotten distracted by the error of a kitchen maid and was scolding her.

"Audrey!" Guinevere called. Nothing. The cook couldn't hear her over the roar of the busy kitchen. She tried again. "Angarhad!"

The cook's gaze snapped to her and the kitchen maid ran off, now that the focus was off of her.

"The bird's fine." Guinevere smiled at Audrey. "Almost done."

"You sure?" The woman asked and moved forward. "Give us a turn."

Guinevere got of her way and the cook took the rag that Guinevere had been using to hold the metal handle of the spit. After sitting near the fire for hours, that iron handle would become quite hot and it was difficult to touch without some protection.

Audrey turned the bird a few times, squinting into the fire and studying the goose's color. Guinevere knew it was just about done, but Audrey had the last say in everything. In fact, if the end of the world was near, Guinevere was fairly certain that the "powers that be" would have to check with Audrey the cook first just to be sure that they could get on with it. A frightening thought, to be sure.

Then the cook nodded. "It'll do." Guinevere just barely heard Audrey grumble over the din.

Guinevere resisted rolling her eyes. The goose looked perfect; she had been so careful to keep the browning even and it showed. She looked around the kitchen instead while the cook spoke, describing how to garnish the goose with some root vegetables and some other tasks that needed to be done but Guinevere wasn't listening anymore because Merlin had just walked into the kitchens and Guinevere couldn't remember anything now.

He was helping carry some platters.

He was smiling at the kitchen maids.

He was talking to someone.

He was just there across the room and yet so far away.

And he saw her. His eyes went wide.

Guinevere smiled and waved at him, edging around a table in order to start moving towards that end of the room. If she could just catch him, she'd be able to explain, she could tell him that-

And Merlin was running away again.

Guinevere stopped trying to get to him and watched the boy bump into a few more servants. Guinevere winced. Merlin flailed, sent a plate of something flying. A loud clatter, a glimmer of spiced pears in syrup soared through the air, catching the light of beautifully. Someone screamed. A gout of flame.

She sighed and leaned on a nearby table as Audrey rushed off to smother the fire that had started to consume a tablecloth. And in the confusion, she watched Merlin stumble up the stairs, patting his smoking coat, and disappear.

That was a little dramatic, Guinevere thought and folded her arms while she rested there amongst the chaos. He looked like he'd seen some sort of monster when he looked at her.

That is a bit of a blow to my self-esteem, she frowned.

Audrey the cook called over the crowd. "Anwen! The bird!"

Guinevere started. God's teeth, the goose!

* * *

 

The day was winding down, sun sinking down behind the trees, and the activity in Camelot was only increasing. Guinevere walked as fast as she could without spilling the bucket of water she carried. It was for the lady's bath and just about the last bucket she would need. Thank goodness! She panted, feeling sweat slide down her back despite the coolness of the evening. It was still early spring and quite cold in the mornings and nights.

Guinevere kept limping along, the bucket banging against her thighs with every step. She turned it a little to keep a sharp edge from rubbing her leg raw. Her arms strained with the weight.

Once she helped the lady bathe then she would help her dress. And once the Lady Morgana was ready for the feast, Guinevere would have to return to the kitchens and help bring the last of the food to the great hall. And then once that was done Guinevere would accompany her lady to the feast and attend her there. Then, when the feast had finished, Guinevere would escort her lady back to her chambers, prepare the bed and fire for the night, then go back down to the kitchens to help clean up the mess. It made her tired just thinking about it.

She was lady's maid. And yet, they had her doing all this work, as if she had two jobs but was paid for only one. Of course, Guinevere couldn't refuse. Others helped her when she needed an extra hand every so often, what made her so much better that she couldn't help others in need? Her conscience didn't allow it. But some days… Guinevere tried to push away those selfish thoughts. Some days she wished she was only a lady's maid, and nothing more. It was too much work. It was-

There he was again.

Guinevere set her bucket of water down, hard. Water splashed over her feet; she felt it through her thin, leather shoes.

He was walking down a corridor, away from her, but she'd know that brown jacket anywhere. She had been hunting for him all day and now here he was. Guinevere grit her teeth and marched forward, after him. He was walking slow so she gained on him. She passed a few other servants heading the opposite direction and dodged them expertly in the narrow corridor. He was close. The junction of two corridors approached. She could catch him on the corner. If she could just get a little closer. Guinevere could almost touch him now so she reached out her hand.

He turned the corner.

Her hand met air.

She stumbled.

Merlin whirled around. "Oh, Gwen!" He squeaked. "I- I didn't see you there." He was backing away from her now, hand running along the wall for support.

Guinevere took a step forward and kept her voice low. "Merlin, I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute? I won't keep you long, I swear."

"Ahm, no, no not really. I-" His eyes rose skyward briefly, thinking, then centered back on her. "Well, I have to help Gaius with something."

Guinevere reached out for him, keeping her movements slow. "It'll just be a moment, really-"

"Sorry!" He dodged her hand and was almost running backwards now. "I can't…Sorry!"

And he disappeared around another corner and was gone. She didn't follow. This approach wasn't working. Guinevere pushed some loose hair out of her eyes and sighed. How was she supposed to make him understand when he wouldn't stand still long enough to listen to her? God's teeth!


	4. What Is In A Palm

"There, done. What do you think?" The Lady Morgana turned around, swirling her gown a little, a smirk upon her face.

That was what Guinevere liked to see. The lady enjoying herself and smiling again. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Guinevere clapped her hands together and pressed her fingertips to her lips. Hair was perfectly pulled back, a string of garnets upon her brow was fixed in place since she had rejected the gold circlet, and the gown was mended as needed. Everything was done. She was ready.

Guinevere sighed. "You look..." She drank it all in. That shade of red was just right against the lady's paler skin. Then she remembered to actually answer. "Oh, beautiful, you look beautiful, my lady."

Morgana did another twirl and Guinevere eyed her again. No, nothing out of place. She was ready.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"Dear Gwen, I was born as such." The lady giggled. "Let us away."

"Yes, let's." Guinevere handed her lady a sash and took her arm, and together they walked the long corridors of the castle until they arrived at the banquet hall.

The low roar of voices and merrymaking could be heard anywhere in the castle, almost vibrating the thick stones that made up the walls. But that was nothing compared to what slammed into Morgana and Guinevere's ears when the guards opened the doors to the hall for them.

They floated in. The lady looked heavenly enough to be easily mistaken for some kind of exotic bird that simply drifts from place to place. Guinevere felt all eyes turn towards both of them. So many smiles, so much laughter. Guinevere could not help but smile herself. They fluttered their way around the crowded banquet hall, performing a rather elegant circuit with a number of fiddly little twirls every so often as the Lady Morgana stopped every five steps to exchange greetings with a visiting noble.

Guinevere's head was spinning only halfway through the affair. At some point, she would have to break away to help fill goblets and then bring up the rest of the feast. But for now... Her lady looked like a flower. She looked like she was blooming. She looked happy. And Guinevere couldn't quite tear herself away from that just yet.

"Would you look at their stares."

Guinevere barely heard the murmur of her lady over the commotion of the crowded hall. She looked to her lady's gaze and followed it. And there, across the room, stood a gaggle of young men and at the center of them stood the Prince. And all were staring. Guinevere allowed herself a slight wrinkle of her nose.

"I believe, my lady," She answered. "They are for you."

"Well, I don't want them." And the Lady Morgana let out a light laugh. "Still, I must adhere to decorum." And they began moving across the hall, towards the Prince's entourage. "We cannot avoid speaking with 'Prince Arduous' tonight, so..."

The Lady Morgana was still talking but Guinevere lost it in the crowd since she was more preoccupied with eyeing the young lad standing beside the Royal Physician. The one who had been gaping at her lady. The one who had started when he saw her too. And the one who was now trying to hide behind the Royal Physician.

"My Lady." Guinevere muttered, squeezing the lady's arm gently. "I have a few other duties to get to and-"

"Oh, Gwen." Lady Morgana slowed her steps towards the Prince. "You cannot stay with me? I would feel much better if you were by my side tonight. Please?"

"I'm sorry, my Lady."

Her lady stopped completely in the middle of the hall, holding on to Guinevere's arm as well. "Are you sure?"

Guinevere saw Merlin making his way to the door that led out into the corridor. She sighed. "Just a few more things to do and I'll be right back." She looked up into the Lady Morgana's eyes, since her lady was a few inches taller. "I swear."

A moment passed.

Guinevere grit her teeth.

Lady Morgana nodded. "All right, off you go." Then she leaned close, smiling. "Hurry back to me, so we can make fun of everyone here. I need someone to hear my jokes."

"I will." Guinevere smiled back and hurried off through the crowd.

There he was, dead ahead.

Someone must have caught him and given him a job to do, since he was now pouring wine into the goblets that sat upon the tables. He was eyeing her as she approached, but could not pour any faster so as to escape her. Guinevere smiled, tried to look friendly. Don't spook him. He's like a deer. Any sudden movements and he'll leap away. Don't mention magic. Don't be odd.

Close enough to talk now, she was standing on one side of the table now and he was on the other. Guinevere moved a goblet closer to his pitcher so he didn't have to reach so far. He nodded silently, avoiding her eyes, staring at his work.

Come on, Guinevere!

She spoke, tried to lift her voice above the crowd. "She looks great, doesn't she?"

Merlin looked up, frowned.

Guinevere gestured behind her, towards where the Lady Morgana now stood, talking to the Prince.

"Oh." And he seemed to stare again for a moment at the lady across the room. "Um, yeah." And Merlin bobbed his head in agreement. Reached to pour the next goblet. His cheeks were red. It wasn't the warm light from the candles that twinkled in every crevice of the hall. He was blushing.

Guinevere moved the cup closer for him.

"Thanks." He muttered.

She watched his shoulders lower a little. He was little less scared. A little less wary.

"Some people are just born to be queen." She sighed. Or doomed, rather, as her lady would often say.

"No!" He looked up, mouth agape.

He was pouring wine all over the table.

Guinevere pushed back his hand and righted the pitcher. "I hope so. One day."

Merlin noticed the spill and hopped backwards. "Oh, sorry!" His voice cracked.

Guinevere took her apron and mopped up the wine. "There, no harm done." And Merlin was almost done with filling all the goblets on the tables. Finally, finally, she could talk to him. "Um, Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

"Could I talk to you, outside? Just a moment, really." She stole a glance at her lady, who was still talking, unfortunately, to the Prince.

"I can't." Suddenly the young man was tense again, backing away, shaking his head, setting the jug of wine down with a loud thump on the table. "Sorry. Real busy. Um-"

Guinevere had opened her mouth to argue, to plead, to say something! When Gaius, the Royal Physician suddenly popped up and was pushing Merlin to the side.

"Gwen." The old man smiled something that looked tight and forced. "Could I speak with you outside the hall, it'll only be a moment."

Guinevere swore up and down, silently. She smiled back though and nodded. "Quickly, I should get back to my lady."

"Of course." And taking Guinevre's arm, Gaius led her out of the hall.

The doors swung open and banged shut, blotting out the noise of the hall. It was quiet now. But only for a moment. Still, holding her arm, very gently, Gaius drew Guinevere over to a little alcove nearby. And in the flickering torchlight, she could see his lips were white.

"Gwen, I must ask you something very serious and you must answer truthfully." He spoke fast, too fast. He was urgent.

She had known the old man since birth. Often, his profession and her mother's knowledge had crossed paths. He was like kin to her mother, kin of the minds. The same kind of person. The same kind of thoughts.

Guinevere nodded.

The old man leaned a little closer and whispered. "Have you been spreading rumors about my nephew?" His hand left her arm.

Rumors!?

Guinevere felt her heart skip a little followed by the feeling of ice in her belly. Why would she spread rumors? "No!" She hissed.

Gaius raised his hands. "Hush, Gwen! Hush! This is a delicate matter."

"Did he say that?"

"No."

"Is that what he told you?"

"Gwen-"

Guinevere wiped some wetness from her eye. Was she crying? She sighed. Her breaths hitched. Was she actually crying? "I would never-"

"I know, I know, Gwen." Gaius was still whispering fast and every other second he was looking up and down the corridor. "It's just that Merlin has told me that you made some rather serious remarks to him...about him."

Guinevere took a breath and tried to calm the shaking in her hands. Clenched them into her apron. Calm. "I have not said a word of anything to anyone else." She knew her tone was rude. He was an elder, and here she was, almost scolding him, "I only wanted to talk to him about his..." She sighed, searched for a word. "Gift." The corridor became suddenly a little louder and she could hear the roar of voices from within the feast hall again. "I wanted to talk to him about it because I have the same-"

"Gwen!"

The door to the hall thumped closed and the noise was cut off again.

Guinevere and Gaius turned.

Lady Morgana slid across the corridor, smiling. "I was wondering where you had gone off to. I need you, Gwen." She looked up at the Royal Physician. "If you are finished with her, Gaius."

Gaius frowned. "Um-"

"You must make me that drink again, the one you've been making for me during breakfast of late." Her lady squeezed her hand and spoke fast. "I am feeling rather nervous. The one that tastes a bit like apple, you know? It is so loud and stuffy in there that I can hardly relax and be still. Do you have time, Gwen, please?" And her lady smiled so sweetly down at her.

Gwen smiled back. "Yes." She patted the Lady Morgana's hand.

Gaius backed away and looked to be heading back into the feast hall. "Gwen, might I have a word or two with you later tonight?"

"Yes, of course."

And the door closed again.

Guinevere turned back to her lady and Morgana smirked in return, rolling her eyes. "What was that all about?"

"Chores." Guinevere pulled some hair back, the curls having fallen in her eyes some time ago.

"Lord." Lady Morgana groaned. "When will it ever end?"

"Never." Guinevere answered and smiled back.

But she did not feel like smiling much right now. Gaius was accusing her. Merlin was avoiding her. And if she went down into the kitchens to make that fragrant drink for her lady she would be caught by the cook and drafted into kitchen chores too.

"Now." And Guinevere yawned as quietly as she could. "You get back in there and wait for me, I'll be back with your drink in a moment." She gently patted her lady on the shoulder.

"Oh, thank you, Gwen. I'm so grateful."

Guinevere watched her lady enter the hall again, lifted her skirts a little, and as soon as the doors banged shut, she shot off down the corridor, towards the kitchens. Her soft leather shoes pounded the stone floors and made little sound. And what she did hear of her running feet were soft patters as the echoes flowed forth and bounced back to her. Her heart began to race. That little curl flopped back into her eyes as she ran. Turn here. Turn there. Down some stairs. She tried to puff the little curl of hair back into place. Puff, puff! She huffed. It stayed. Dodging other servants, left and right. Whooshing past. And she practically dove into the kitchens.

It was throbbing sea of heads, hands, and swirling platters. All noise. All chaos.

Guinevere just reached the roaring fireplace and picked up the blackened kettle that had always sat beside the fire, ready to be used, when she heard her name. Or something like it, anyway.

"Anwen!"

Guinevere winced.

Didn't turn around. Set the heavy kettle, already full of water, on the hook above the fire.

"Anwen! Silly girl!"

Not my name.

Guinevere took a deep breath and finally turned about and called over the din. "I'm Guinevere!"

The cook, Audrey or Angharad or whatever she called herself, looked up from some dish was arranging, some platter she was finishing up before it was to be sent up to the feast. Probably the last of it.

"Eh?" She asked, looking up briefly. "I need you, girl, come over here."

Guinevere wiped her hands on her apron, pulling off the soot that rubbed onto her skin when she lifted the great, dirty kettle. And she walked over to where the cook stood. The woman was frowning in concentration.

Guinevere spoke again. "Anwen was my mother's name. Mine is Guinevere."

"Oh. Gwen. Anwen. They rhyme." Audrey the cook shrugged. "I get them confused. Need you to go get that-"

"Not if you use 'Guinevere'." She interrupted. "They don't rhyme if you use 'Guinevere'." Guinevere crossed her arms and planted her feet as best as she could. "Angharad."

No more. No longer. It stops.

I'm Guinevere. Not her.

Audrey the cook handed off the dish she had been arranging to another kitchen maid, some fish with a garnish, and straightened up. The woman was taller than her by quite a bit. She wasn't round nor was she full to bursting, but she looked like a solid woman. Something stable, Guinevere reflected, something like a load-bearing pillar. Audrey tucked a bit of flyaway hair into her kerchief, the one she always wore in the kitchen. Probably wore to bed. Probably wore all day, every day. It was once white.

Angharad nodded. And there was something like a smile on the woman's face. "You look so much like her, sound like her too."

Guinevere felt her heart sink a little and she nodded too. "Yes, I know."

Angharad and Anwen had been old friends. How must it feel to look at Guinevere every day and see Anwen? Guinevere felt a twinge of guilt for being so petty. It was only a name...

"But Gwen-hwee-var is very different from Anwen, it is true. I'll choose that one now. Names are important, you see/" And the way that Angharad pronounced her name was so odd, but Guinevere did not mind much. The cook smiled at her and Guinevere smiled back.

Yes, names were important.

"Now!" Angharad barked, slapping Guinevere's shoulder, hard. "I have a task for you. Bronwen has run off again. Probably with her sweetheart. Go and fetch her, will you, Gwen-hwee-far?"

"Oh." Guinevere rubbed her shoulder. Ouch. Didn't she have something else to do? What was it? Why had she come to the kitchen again? "Bronwen?" She asked.

"Sent the girl up to the visiting lady's room with fruit for the lady, never came back."

Lady... For the Lady... Lady Morgana. Oh no! She was supposed to be making Lady Morgana's little hot drink. God's teeth! She would have to hurry.

Guinevere nodded. "I'll find her." And she swung out of the kitchen.

And again with the running!

Her feet pounded the stone floor, her heels began to throb. Didn't matter. Had to find Bronwen so she could make the drink and bring it to the Lady Morgana and get back to the feast so she could talk to Merlin!

God's teeth! God's teeth!

Up a few more stairs and around some corners. It was cold, still cold because winter still had its hold on the castle and the lands beyond, but Guinevere could feel some sweat prickling on her back. She could feel a heat on her brow and in her belly. Find Bronwen, just find Bronwen.

And as she ran, Guinevere tried to remember just what the girl looked like. It only took a moment. She had a good memory for faces. The girl was blonde and always looked like she was smiling. Guinevere knew the girl to be jolly and young and so carefree. And beautiful. And always singing. That Bronwen.

Guinevere swung around one last corner. Almost there!

And nearly ran into someone.

"Oh!" Guinevere stumbled aside just in time. Tripped into a wall. Ouch!

"Watch where you are going!" Skirts rustled.

Guinevere bowed her head, rubbing the arm that had slammed into the stone wall. The voice was prim. And the way the words formed, she could tell it was a noble. "I'm so sorry, my lady, I was careless."

"Indeed! What do you need to be running around like that for?"

Guinevere kept her eyes on the floor. "I'm sorry, my lady." Still bowing, she watched the Lady sweep past without another word and disappear down the corridor. Once the lady turned a corner and was out of sight, Guinevere sighed and straightened up. That was close. So that was Lady Helen...

And where on this earth was Bronwen?

Guinevere didn't stand there long. She did not have much time. She would be quick. Very quick. Guinevere slipped into Lady Helen's chambers. "Bronwen?" She whispered, scanning the room: bed, table, no Bronwen. "Bronwen?" She whispered again.

Guinevere spotted some brown cloth on the floor, just behind the little table. A fallen shawl? She moved closer. A skirt? No, the cloth, it is too coarse. A swirl of gold hair.

A number of things flashed through Guinevere's mind, so fast she wasn't sure of the order.

The girl's face was so pale. The hand she grabbed was cold.

She should get someone.

Lady Helen had done something. But why?

The girl looked dead.

Guinevere pressed her ear to the serving girl's breast.

The girl was dead.

Tears. Guinevere blinked them back. Why?

"Bronwen?" It was no use, but she still tried. Shook the girl's shoulder. Why?

Gently peeled open one of the girl's eyes. Nothing. Nothing moved. Just cold underneath her fingers. Had to do something. Had to.

Guinevere stumbled to her feet, tripping on her skirts, and launched herself out of the chamber. She sped through the corridors. Feet jarred from pounding the flagstones. She gasped. What would she say? Who to tell? Hands fisted in her skirts, raising them so she could run. Run. Run to the banquet hall. And then what?

Tell Gaius, Maybe. Or her Lady.

What on earth did Lady Helen do?

She heard a woman's voice echoing throughout the corridors, softly, calming. A shiver ran down her spine. It sounded...wrong. The performance has begun. That's right, the Lady Helen would be singing at the feast. Strange. Guinevere yawned and just had to slow down, slow to a walk, and yawn. Yawned again. Legs were heavy.

Something was wrong with that...sound. Guinevere sat down on the ground, stones cold beneath her.

So tired.

She gripped her apron and tore it to pieces, hazily stuffing the wadded cloth into her ears. And waited, swaying. A moment or two passed. Better. Much better. She took a deep breath and got to her feet again. It was the singing. The singing was wrong. Some kind of enchantment.

Guinevere frowned and staggered towards the door to the hall. At least, she thought it was the door to the hall. The torches had all dimmed. It was dark and a kind of heaviness lay thick in the air. Magic. Magic was at work here. And it was the kind of magic that gave all others a bad name.

Guinevere swallowed hard and peeked through the doorway, the heavy wooden door ajar.

All the candles were out. The whole hall was dim and covered in... Guinevere squinted. Cobwebs? God's teeth! And everyone was asleep, slumped over on one another! That would have been her fate were it not for her wadded, torn apron.

At the center of it all walked Lady Helen, her back to Guinevere and slowly moving towards the King and his table.

She did not mean well. Lady Helen, or whoever she was, did not mean well at all.

Guinevere swallowed hard and pushed past the door. And she began to creep forward. No one else was awake but her. Guinevere spotted a knife on one of the tables she passed, one meant for cutting meat for eating. Hand trembling, she reached out and grabbed the cold handle of the knife. She would use it if she had to. She would. Hands still shook.

Guinevere's eyes slid back to the Lady.

And another figure, by one of the little stairwells, just to the left. Hands over the ears. Smart.

But was it... Merlin?

Guinevere could have giggled, if she had the breath for it.

He looked to be the only other one awake. If they could both surprise Lady Helen, perhaps they could put an end to this enchantment, or whatever it was.

Like quicksilver, the Lady's hand whipped something from her sleeve. It glittered in the little light there was, a knife.

Guinevere's blood turned to ice.

Hand raised, poised. Aiming at... Merlin? She could not tell. She could not see.

Do something!

"Merlin!" Guinevere shouted. She jumped towards Lady Helen, knife held up.

Lady Helen whipped around, saw the knife that Guinevere held to her throat. Fear, anger, hate. Opened her mouth. Guinevere's hand quivered.

A gold flash in the darkness. Like coins, when flipped, catching some unseen light.

Gold!

A crack.

The Lady looked up to the rafters.

Guinevere dove to the side, scrambling away from the woman.

The metal chandelier came down with an earth-shattering crash, deafening even through the cloth in Guinevere's ears. Guinevere just sat there, frozen, panting hard. Lady Helen did not move. In fact, it was not Lady Helen anymore. Before her very eyes, Guinevere saw the face of Lady Helen dissolve into that of an old woman, grey-haired and wrinkled.

What was going on?

She looked back to Merlin. He was looking around too, his breaths frozen in the chilly air. Guinevere heard some stirring. The people that were once asleep were waking up. She sighed and tossed the knife she still held aside. Thank the green earth she would not need that! Now to just catch her breath. She hung her head and just breathed. Breathing, it was an underrated thing. The next most underrated thing was sleep, but she doubted she would be getting much of that tonight.

A clinking. A clank.

Guinevere looked up.

The Lady had raised herself, still pinned to the ground by the chandelier, and drew back her arm, knife in hand.

Guinevere scrambled to her feet. "Look out!" She reached the grab the Lady's wrist, prevent her from throwing. Too late. Guinevere's fingers met air. The knife was loose, flying by.

A flash of gold again.

Almost in slow motion, Guinevere watched Merlin dart forward and snatch Prince Arthur back, pulling him back towards him. And it was good that he did too. For just as they fell back to the floor, the knife buried itself in the back of the Prince's chair. Where the Prince had been standing a moment ago.

Guinevere's hand was still outstretched, and now she let it fall to her side. She looked down to the Lady, or the witch. But the witch had collapsed on the stone floor again. She was still, but Guinevere did not trust the stillness any more. With her foot, she prodded the body. Nothing. Guinevere wanted to sigh in relief, but it didn't come. There were voices. People were talking. She let it filter in.

The King was speaking, thanking someone.

Guinevere kept her eyes on the witch at her feet. What had her name been? She wondered.

"Gwen?" A muffled voice spoke.

"Hmm?" Guinevere looked up.

Her lady was looking at her from the other side of the table, pulling a bit of cobweb from her hair. Morgana frowned. "What have you got in your... ears?"

* * *

Merlin felt Gaius's hand tighten on his shoulder when he heard a voice calling his name from behind.

"Merlin!"

Gaius muttered some kind of curse under his breath.

Merlin stopped and turned around. Gaius tried to stop him, pull him along, Merlin ignored it.

Gwen, the maid to Lady Morgana jogged up to them, panting, and still looking a little crazed. Merlin felt his heart start to race. She had seen him use his gift, three times now. What was he going to do? Keep pretending she didn't know. He had to face her at some point.

Besides, she had helped him. She had drawn Mary Collins' attention away. She had been brave with that knife, trying to help him.

"Sorry." Gwen stopped just short of them, trying to catch her breath. "Sorry, I just-"

"Merlin." Gaius murmured, but just loud enough for Gwen to hear. "I need your assistance in my chambers. There's that remedy I need you to help me with."

"Oh." Gwen frowned and put her hands on her hips. "Now, see here. I-"

"Gaius, I'll catch up." Merlin looked down to the floor and studied the stones there. It was hard to look this girl in the eyes. "I'll be there in a bit...to help and stuff."

"Are you sure?" The old man whispered.

"Yeah."

And in a moment, Merlin felt that warm comforting presence leave his side. He saw Gaius's retreating back disappear behind a corner down the corridor.

"It'll just be a moment." Gwen's voice, leaning close, whispering.

Merlin felt a warm hand seize his wrist and tug him along. He let himself be led. Might as well get it over with. He supposed after this he would have to leave Camelot under cover of night and run back home, tail between his legs. Would he even be welcome back in Ealdor? He sighed.

In a minute or so, he found himself in a little alcove. There were many of them, he had discovered, throughout the castle. In fact, several times, he had accidentally stumbled upon a pair of servants or a pair of nobles, or a pair of either, embracing in one of these alcoves. Merlin blushed at the memory. So humiliating.

And Gwen was talking again. When had she started doing that? Merlin forced himself to look at her, watching her lips move as she spoke. This girl was relentless.

"...have to get back to my Lady soon, so I'll be quick, I promise." Merlin saw the girl smile at him, but it was a small one.

He nodded.

She continued. "I saw you save the prince and drop that candle-holder on the Lady Hel- well, the witch, I suppose." Gwen shrugged. "I know you have magic and it's okay."

Merlin's heart sank even further. He knew she knew, but still, hearing her say it made him more frightened than before. What would she do to him? And Gaius? Gaius knew too.

Merlin felt himself begin to quiver. "Wh-" He licked his lips. "What are you gonna do?"

"Oh." She blinked then smiled up at him. "Me? Nothing. No, nothing, I swear. I'm just happy you are here."

Merlin frowned. What? She was happy? "You're not going to turn me in?"

"What? No!" She seemed to splutter a moment. "Of course not!"

"Then... what?" He asked, feeling quite stupid.

Gwen just looked up at him and smiled a little more, and after a moment she shrugged and sighed. "I can too. Do magic, I mean."

She must be lying. Or crazy. Maybe crazy. She was looking at him with wide eyes and a big smile. Maybe definitely crazy. Merlin shook his head. "Nooo...I don't think-"

"I can, it's true, I can prove it." And she grabbed his hand again, the right one.

Merlin tried to pull away.

"Hold still." She snapped and turned his hand around, so the palm was now upwards.

She was strong, stronger than he expected anyway, and he just couldn't quite twist free. Merlin sighed. "I don't think this is a good idea. I believe you, Gwen. I believe you."

"Hush." And she bent over his hand, nose nearly touching it. He could feel soft wisps of her warm breath on his palm.

And she stared at it for the longest time.

Too long.

Merlin looked around. Hopefully not one saw them here. It was be awkward...

"Other hand, please." Gwen demanded.

Automatically and without even thinking, Merlin held out his left hand, palm up, for her. Gwen took it in her hand as well. She was now holding both of his hands, palms upwards, and staring intently at them.

Another minute or so passed and Merlin hoped this would end soon.

"This is your dominant hand?" She shook his right hand gently.

"My what?"

"The hand you do everything with?"

"Yeah." Merlin nodded. Wasn't much to her magic, if she was just using it to guess which hand he used the most. Anyone could see that judging by the calluses he probably had on that hand. Maybe she was done now. "Umm, could I-"

She shushed him again.

Merlin tapped his foot, waiting.

Finally, she spoke again. "There's a difference in your palms, you're at a crossroads." And then, she was silent again.

She wasn't wrong. So much had changed for him the past few days. Coming to Camelot, Gaius, his magic, the Prince, and the...the thing in the dungeons. The thing that spoke in riddles. "I guess that's right." He answered.

"Oh, It's not a question." Gwen looked up at him again.. "It just is." Then back to his hand.

"Oh."

His hands were growing warm as Gwen held them close within her own. Another minute passed.

She began speaking again. "You haven't found yourself a sweetheart yet," And she switched her gaze to his left hand. "And it'll be difficult to get yourself one. You're an open book, easy for you to talk about yourself, too easy." Gwen glanced up at him, then back at his right hand. "But you'll level out, no worries about that. But for now, you've got be careful not to let your feelings run your mouth."

"Don't have to tell me twice." Merlin muttered.

"You're smart, but not in a head-kind of way-"

Merlin snorted.

"You have good ideas, you're creative, and you don't let go of a problem until it's solved." Gwen took a moment to brush back a strand of her hair that had fallen into her eyes. She continued. "Very energetic, but you'll calm down eventually." Gwen traced a straight line down the center of his right palm. "Strongly controlled by fate." Her voice had deepened.

Merlin shuddered. Odd that she could see that...

And she looked to the left hand again. "You have a very deep... fate. It's laid out for you. Some mission. A purpose. A big one."

Merlin felt his heart start to race again.

Gwen leaned back again, she was not studying his palms as closely now, just looking at his hands. She turned them over once, then back to his palms. "Talk too much, you have a quick wit, and it gets you in trouble. A lot." A pause. "Spiteful. You live in your head sometimes. Sometimes you have to. It's the only safe place you have..." She trailed off a little.

Merlin watched her closely. She could have gotten all that from just watching him and maybe asking around. It didn't mean that she had magic too-

"Your mother brought you up and you don't know your father. He left before your birth. You try not to let it bother you. All the other children of your village and some of the adults did not like you. You tried to make them like you, but it didn't work. You had one friend. He knew your secret. You didn't want to leave your mother but she is very worried for you. Worried for your future. So she sent you here."

Gwen rattled off all these emotions and conflicts within Merlin's heart, without taking a single breath, that he felt quite laid bare. He felt open. He felt free. Like fresh air was blowing in between his ribs.

"She's worried because you didn't learn it, you didn't learn magic, you were born with it."

Born with it.

Merlin yanked his hands back, feeling chills run down his skin. "How did you- Who did you- What-" He could barely get a word out.

Gwen raised her eyes to his and shrugged. "It's all there, in your hands, I mean. I can see it." The maid set a hand on his shoulder, despite having to reach up to do so. "My mother showed me how to do it, she passed it on to me. The magic."

Merlin shook his head. "I just... I don't understand."

"I wasn't born with it, like you, but I had my mother as a teacher. She used it. So I do too." She was staring at him, always looking right into his eyes.

Merlin looked down at the ground again. He usually wasn't this shy. "Well... What do we do now? What does it mean?"

Gwen took his hands again, but this time she was gentle. This time she just held them and didn't study the lines therein. "It means..."

Merlin forced himself to look up at her again.

"That we cut from the same cloth, you and I." She smiled at him again.

Merlin smiled back. There was something in her face, in her lips, that shone. She felt shiny, like a sun. He couldn't help but smile back. Something in his chest relaxed. He breathed. Finally.

A few moments passed and something anxious and dark wormed its way into his thoughts. "Gwen..."

"Guinevere." She corrected him.

Oh, he had thought she said her name was 'Gwen', oh well. "Sorry, Guinevere," He said. "Have you heard anything strange from underneath."

She frowned but stayed quiet, letting him speak.

Merlin licked his lips then continued. "From under the floor... Have you heard someone calling your name, maybe? Have you been in the lower...lower dungeons?"

"No." Guinevere shook her head. "I can't say I have, but-"

"Gwen, there you are!"

Merlin nearly died of fright right then and there. The floor swaying beneath his feet as he dizzily realized that the Lady Morgana, the lady that Guinevere served, had popped out from around a corner.

Guinevere dropped Merlin's hands.

Merlin stumbled backwards, and away from the maid, sliding out of the alcove. "I should go." He staggered, tripping on his own feet. "Um, sorry." He heard himself mumbling. And he jogged off in the direction of Gaius's chambers. As fast as he feet would take him.

From behind he heard some teasing from the Lady. "Gwen, if had known that..." He didn't hear the rest but a moment later there was some very loud squawking from Guinevere.

Cut from the same cloth.

Merlin let himself smile again though.

You and I.

He felt a little like the sun himself.

Shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RESEARCH NOTES
> 
> I did quite a bit of research on palm reading. One source helped me the most though. Basically, I found a great wikihow article and followed the instructions on it. However, I also scouted the internet and found a few photographs of the palms of Colin Morgan, the actor that plays Merlin. So I applied the palm reading to Colin Morgan just for fun. And some of that you have read, and some of it I fudged for story's sake. Anyway, I thought that was a fun little exercise.


	5. The Yolk You Wear

 

"Gwen, ahm, I could really use your help."

A loud clang.

Guinevere winced and turned around in time to see Merlin drop most of the armor he had been carrying. He stood in the open doorway, holding only the helmet now. Which he tossed to the floor too. He hung his head, sighing. "Do you understand any of this?"

She set down the tunic she had been darning on the table and got up. She grabbed the rest of the armor from the floor. Even from across the room, she could tell the craftsmanship of the armor was fine. Probably belonged to Prince. Poor Merlin was his manservant. No one deserved that job.

"I do." Guinevere set the armor on the table next to her sewing and bent to pick up the helmet.

Merlin did too.

And they knocked heads.

"Ow!" Guinevere laughed and backed away.

"I'm sorry." He stuttered. "I'm so sorry." He picked up the helmet and held it out to her. "I'm rubbish at this."

"Nonsense." She smiled and set the helmet next to the rest of the armor. "You've only just started. Look, I'll show you how it goes on."  
"Really?" He sighed, but smiled big and wide. "You're saving my life. I've been up all night, trying to-"

"I know you'll understand it soon. Have a seat." Guinevere pulled a stool a little closer to the boy and he plopped down into it, sighing again. "That tired?" She smiled.

Merlin laid his head down upon her table. "You have no idea."

"I may." Guinevere smirked and moved the tunic she had been working on. It could wait. She ladled some well-water she had collected earlier into a kettle and set it over the little fireplace. Would be boiling soon…

"I'm sorry!" Merlin sat up, rocking back in the stool. "Of course you know what it's like. You've worked here longer than me. How-... How long have you…?" He trailed off, frowning and looking up at her.

"How long have I...what?" Guinevere asked as she set some brown bread and hard cheese on the table. "Hungry?"

"What? Oh, yes." Merlin took some bread. "How long have you been a servant here?"

"Not long." She thought about it. It had been long. Almost as long as her mother had. Almost. "About ten years. Something like that." She stood by the table and began to untangle the mess of leather straps and clasps that would fasten the armor to a body.

"Ten years!" He exclaimed, a little muffled though, since he had just taken a bite of bread. "That's a lot!"

She laughed.

Of course he turned beet red and tried to stutter out apologies through the crumbs. "Oh, sorry, I- I didn't mean- What I meant-"

"It's okay."

"Sorry."

Guinevere shrugged. She pulled a small wooden box off a shelf, opened it, and tipped a few of the dried flowers that lay inside into two horn cups. "Doesn't bother me."

A small sigh. "Thanks."

She set the cups on the table to wait for the boiling water. "So!" Guinevere put her hands on her hips. "What's the problem?" And she nodded at the armor she had set on the table.

The black-haired boy put his face in his hands. "I've been at it all night but I just can't figure it out, where the pieces all go." Merlin rubbed his eyes before looking up at the armor again. "Arthur's going to kill me."

Guinevere picked up the helm again. It was very finely made, and polished pretty well. Could be a bit better. A couple spots had been missed. Her father probably had some lanolin oil around here somewhere she could use. Otherwise, it would rust. "Arthur's not going to kill you." She began to look around her father's workspace; it was cluttered.

"Yes, he is."

"No, he's not." She found the pot of oil, a rag, and set to work. "I'll help you." Guinevere sat down on the other stool, across the table from Merlin

Merlin was watching her. After a minute or so, he spoke again. "Thank you."

A few more minutes passed until finally she finished. Then she held the helmet out to him across the table. "Here. Where does that go?"

Merlin smiled and lowered his eyes. Maybe a blush. "Um, yeah, on the head."

"Correct!" Guinevere looked to the hearth and noticed her kettle was boiling. She got up and grabbed it with a thick rag. It steamed. Warm. Damp. Poured out the water into the two cups. The dried flowers floated to the top. "See? It's not a lost cause."

"I suppose not." He shrugged.

"It's a start." While the infusion steeped, she looked over the armor. Now, she had to remember what the Prince commonly wore in tournaments. Guinevere called to mind the number of times she had seen a man dressed, piece-by-piece, in armor. She closed her eyes. Tried to visualize each piece. Tried to-

"So… So your mother was a- a sorcerer?" The boy asked.

Guinevere opened her eyes again and thought for a moment about her answer. "In a way." She eventually admitted. "Not like you though."

"How so?"

The infusion was probably ready by now. Guinevere got up from the stool and removed the dried flowers out of the hot, fragrant water with a slotted spoon. "She used it like her mother used it, for small things. Little spells, little charms." She set one of the horn cups, full of steaming sweet-smelling water, in front of Merlin. "Maybe some words to protect a house during the night before solstice. Certain plants for certain hurts and sicknesses. Things like that."

Merlin took the drink in both hands, staring up at her, mouth hanging open. "Wow."

Guinevere sat down again and sipped from her cup.

"And you? Your mother? You were never caught?"

She swallowed the brew. It tasted of last summer's sunshine. "No." Guinevere shook her head. "Not yet, I suppose."

"Do you think she, your mum, would she teach me?" Merlin took a sip too and his eyebrows flew up and disappeared into his bangs. "This is amazing." He grinned and pointed at the cup he held. "I can't- I can't even describe it."

Guinevere smiled. "Wildflowers from last year."

"Anyway. I'm so new to… this, but I've love to have a teacher. Gaius he-" He stuttered to a stop and cleared his throat. "He doesn't know."

Guinevere nodded and set down her drink. The armor on the table gleamed beside her, a warm glow from the firelight of the hearth and a cool reflection of the pale morning light sliding through the doorway. "I'm sorry. My mother passed some years ago." She smiled at the boy. He'd be embarrassed now for asking.

Merlin's ears turned red. "Sorry." And he lowered his eyes. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

Guinevere shrugged and stood again. It was about time for the armor lesson anyway. Time to move on. "I would be happy to show you what she taught me though. It wasn't much, but I remember quite a bit."

"Really?" He perked up, like a thirsty plant does after its been given water. Sat up. Grinned. "I would love that, really, I-"

"But first." She interrupted, picked up the pauldron. "We have to teach you the finer points of armor."

"Oh." Merlin frowned, then sighed. "Right."

She narrowed her eyes, watching him. He had better not drag his feet now. He had asked for her help after all. "And when is this tournament, Merlin?"

He let his head fall back to the table, into his arms. "Today!" Came the muffled reply.

"And how much time do you have?"

"An hour!"

"Well, then. We had better get started."

The boy seemed to pull himself to his feet and soon after Guinevere found herself rattling off the years of impromptu lessons her own father had given her. It all felt well rehearsed. Well worn. Comfortable. And It was soon clear to her that Merlin had forgotten a few key pieces of the Prince's armor. For one, the gambeson, hauberk, and tunic with the Prince's sigil were all missing. All Merlin had brought was the pauldron, gorget, and the vambrace. And of course, the helmet.

No matter, she would simply have to describe the missing pieces as best as she could. So, Guinevere stood Merlin in the middle of the room and one-by-one explained each piece of armor that the Prince would have to wear that morning.

"First the gambeson-" She began.

"What's that?" His voice was a little squeaky, probably from nerves.

Guinevere handed him the pauldron and gorget together. "The gambeson is that padded coat, right? You put it on first so none of the armor accidentally cuts into the Prince's skin."

He took the armor from her hands, frowning. "Funny how you have to protect yourself from your own armor."

"I guess." She hadn't really seen it that way.

"Anyway." Guinevere continued. "On top of that padded coat - the gambeson - right?"

"Gam-be-son." He repeated.

"Good, so, on top of that goes the hauberk. The hauberk is that big coat of chainmail, remember? You didn't bring that one either, though."

"Sorry." He bowed his head a little.

"Don't worry, don't worry." Guinevere tried to reassure him. She certainly didn't want to discourage the boy. "So to review…" And she nodded at him.

Merlin stared at her for a moment, silent, then- "Oh! Yeah, yeah. Ahm, the gambeson on first."

"Why?"

"To protect the person in the armor."

"Yes! And then?" She prompted.

"The hauberk?"

"See? You're doing great." Guinevere took the pauldron and gorget from his hands and slowly eased it onto his right shoulder, fingers going to the leather straps smooth as silk. A memory in her fingers. It would have been harder to stop from automatically buckling the fastenings.

"Really? Do you think so?"

Her eyes were on the straps but she could hear the smile in his voice. "I do. So, after the hauberk you put that bright red tunic on so everyone knows who the Prince is."

"He's not hard to miss." Merlin muttered.

Guinevere swallowed her grin. "So gambeson, hauberk, tunic. And now, for the best part." And she stood back to survey the pauldron and the gorget that Merlin now wore.

Merlin shrugged a little, probably noticing how heavy and clunky armor actually was. "How do I look?" He asked.

"Exposed." Guinevere picked up the vambrace from the table. "So what you are wearing is the pauldron." And she touched the semi-dome that covered the boy's shoulder. "And the gorget." Then she tapped the collar that protected Merlin's neck. "So, tell me all of it so far, please."

"Okay, okay." Merlin closed his eyes, thought a moment, mouth a thin line. "I can do this. Ahm, gambeson goes first, it's the big coat. Then the hau- hauberk? The chainmail, right? Then the tunic. Then these things." He nodded down at the armor he now wore. "The pauldron and the gorget." He pointed at his shoulder and then at his throat.

"Wonderful!" Guinevere darted forward and began attaching the vambrace to Merlin's right arm. As she was fastening the leather straps, she ended up tugging on Merlin's sleeve, pushing it back, revealing a few well-made bruises. Dark and purple. "Where did you get these?" She asked. Though, she had a good idea how he had gotten them.

"Hmm?" Merlin looked down to where she pointed. "Oh, those. Arthur."

Guinevere recalled seeing the two of them out in the training fields, sparring. "I see." She nodded. "Don't worry, the more practice you get, the more likely you'll be to knock him on his royal- Well, you know."

"Arse?" He offered

"Yes."

"Thanks, Guinevere." She had just finished fastening the vambrace in place and Merlin lifted his arm to inspect it. "And this is?"

"The vambrace, it covers the lower arm and the forearm, with a bit of a joint at the middle to protect the elbow. It goes on the dominant arm, the attacking arm, as extra protection. Since the other arm has the shield on it." She folded her arms and looked Merlin over. "Usually. Don't forget the shield."

"Right, so…" Merlin trailed off for a moment, then soon began to list everything she had taught him so far. "Gambeson, hauberk, tunic, pauldron, gorget, and then…" He waved his armored arm around a little. "The vambrace?"

"Yes." She smiled. "Just one more piece to remember."

Merlin frowned, his smile vanishing. "What have I forgotten?"

"You haven't." Guinevere took the helmet from the table and handed it to the boy. "I guess you know what to do with the helmet."

He took it. "Ahm, yeah. Yeah, that was the only bit I'd figured out." And placed it on his head.

Guinevere giggled a little. He looked quite...intimidating? Well, if by intimidating she meant in danger of falling over and not being able to get up by himself, then yes. Something like that.

Merlin sighed and shrugged. "How come you're so much better at this than me?"

"I'm the blacksmith's daughter." She answered, giving him one more glance to see if she had missed anything. Everything looked correct. "I know pretty much everything there is to know about armor, which is actually kind of sad." It was useless knowledge for a maid.

"No, it's brilliant!" His voice echoed around inside of the helmet he wore.

She smiled. "Thanks, Merlin."

* * *

Merlin kicked at the door before him, as gently as he could really, and called out. "Hullo, Gwen-...nevere. Ahm, are you in?"

A minute later the door whooshed open, stirring Guinevere's hair, and it floated around her wide eyes. "What's the matter? Is everything alright?"

"Oh!" Merlin shifted the pack on his back a little, arms beginning to ache. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. I just wanted to thank you, for earlier, I mean. And Gaius almost caught me. Can I come in? Have you have dinner, also?"

She was quiet for almost a whole minute but her mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally, Guinevere stepped back to let him in. "Please, uh, come in."

"Thanks!" Merlin's bag clanked as he stepped over the threshold. He set it down as carefully as he could but it still made quite a bit of noise. "I asked about and they said you went home after the tournament. Are you hungry? I brought dinner? It's just Gaius's cooking, though. Sorry." And he opened the bag and brought out the cloth napkin he had stuffed with roasted root vegetables and salted pork that Gaius had cooked up for dinner. He set it on the table.

"Umm, Merlin?"

"Hmm?" Merlin looked up from pulling the rest of his things out of his pack.

He had piled his chores that Arthur had asked him to do in there and brought them over. Since Gaius had caught him doing them with magic, it made sense to do it all here. Guinevere wouldn't mind, probably.

Guinevere still stood by the door, but she had closed it now. "I'd like you to meet my father."

A man sat at a small table on the other side of the room. Merlin saw the bowl in front of him. He had been eating. But he had stopped. And he was staring at Merlin.

Whoops. Merlin swallowed hard and got up from his crouch. "Oh, hullo!" He strode across the room, past Guinevere, and to her father, holding out his hand. "I'm Merlin. I'm a bit new here."

The man, who was quite tall and not entirely friendly-looking, looked at Merlin's hand, then up into his face. He was a big fellow. Big in the sort of way that he could probably rip Merlin's arms off. And he looked like he was thinking about it. But soon the man's face eased into a smile, then a grin, then he took Merlin's hand and shook it warmly, standing up from his seat. His entire hand completely enveloped Merlin's.

"Well, it certainly is nice to meet you, Merlin. Welcome to Camelot. I was just on my back to my forge to finish up a few things for the night." He grabbed a coat and pulled it on. "You two enjoy dinner." And he slipped outside and into the evening.

"So." Merlin turned back to Guinevere. "He seemed nice." He was actually quite relieved to meet another friendly person. They were few and far between here in Camelot.

Guinevere's face was in her hands and when she finally looked up her cheeks were really red. "He thinks- Oh god's teeth!" And she covered her face with her apron.

Merlin frowned. "What does he think?"

"Nothing!" Guinevere came over and sat at the little table they had sat at earlier in the day. "Th-thank you for bringing me dinner. I hadn't had the chance to eat yet."

Merlin walked back to his pack and sent a smirk her way. "Don't thank me just yet. Gaius cooked it."

Guinevere laughed a little and wiped her eyes. She was still really red.

Merlin set down the little bundle of food he had brought along with a loaf of brown bread that he had filched from the kitchens. Gaius had already sent him on a few midnight raids of the kitchens when the old physician was hungry during a long night when they were up late making remedies or treating patients. Gaius had said it was allowed. So Merlin just went along with it.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, eyeing her again. Maybe she didn't feel well. "Are you sick? You're really red." He unwrapped the food.

"Yes, yes!" Guinevere nodded. "I'm fine. Really fine. I'm fine!"

They began to eat. Merlin chewed silently, staring into the little hearth fire that crackled away merrily in the small house. It had been a long day. And he still had so much to do. Especially since Gaius had interrupted him when he-

"So what's at that for?"

Merlin looked down his pack, which Guinevere was pointing at with a crust of the brown bread.

"Oh." Merlin popped a chunk of roasted turnip into his mouth and reached down. He undid the rest of the clasps and a few things spilled out onto the dirt floor: the Prince's shield, his bright red cloak, his helmet, his boots, and his extremely fine sword. And amongst all that, a large, darkly bound book as well.

She eyed the items, a moment passed, then she looked back up at Merlin. "Why do you have these?"

Merlin chewed a moment, working his way through a particularly stale part of the bread, and swallowed. "Gaius. He almost caught me- well, he walked in when I was…" He lowered his voice. "Using magic to do my chores."

"Merlin!" Guinevere hissed. She sounded angry, but Merlin knew she wasn't. She was smiling. And she lightly hit his arm. Very lightly.

Merlin grinned. He wasn't really ashamed, but he felt he should look it, so he lowered his head. "Just a little bit."

"That's very dangerous." Guinevere sighed. "Wish I could do it though." She added afterward, softly, like she was talking to herself.

"Oh, I could show you." Merlin leaned down and picked up his tome of magic that Gaius had given him. He could barely bear to be parted from it during the day and had been reading it hungrily each night until his daily candle ration ran out of wick. "In here." He opened the book, turning pages. "There's spells for everything-"

But Guinevere had taken both sides of the book and slammed it shut, almost crushing Merlin's fingers. "Hush!" She wasn't red anymore. She was pale. "Merlin, you can't just- You can't do that. Not here. Not anywhere."

"Gwen-"

But she shook her head, hands falling away from the book. "You can't."

Merlin almost laughed. He was confused. Wouldn't she want to, of all people, want to know more about magic. "But Guinevere, what's the point of having it if you don't use it."

Guinevere looked a lot smaller right now. She looked tired. Hunched over. "I'm sorry. It's dangerous."

"It's okay." Merlin opened the book again. "I promise. Here, I'll show you a little. Just a little."

A pause. "Just a little."

"Just a little." He repeated.

"Just for a moment."

"Really quickly." He turned to the right page. Then Merlin looked to the boots and the brush he had brought with him. Gave them a meaningful look. Hissed a few weird words. And the boots rose into the air, along with the brush, and the brush began to polish the leather boots. The bristles softly scraping the leather was the only noise in the little house.

A few minutes passed. And Guinevere finally spoke. "It's...it's quite...wow." But she kept glancing toward the windows. Finally, she got up and closed the curtains.

"That's nothing. I was doing five things at once earlier."

Guinevere whirled around. "Really?"

"Yeah."

She smiled, it was a small one, but still a smile. "I bet you're bragging."

"I'm not." He laughed. And within a minute or so, the dents in the shield were being hammered out, the cloak was washing itself, the helmet was polishing itself along with the boots, and the sword was sharpening itself.

Guinevere just stood there, mouth open, eyes moving from one enchanted chore to the other. "How did you learn to do all this?" She walked back to her chair and sat down again.

"From the book."

"Where did you get it?"

The mouthful of bread in his mouth turned a little sour. What should he say? Merlin chewed quickly and swallowed. He didn't want to tell Guinevere that Gaius gave it to him, because, well, if something happened… He didn't want Gaius to be blamed. It was better if no one knew that Gaius "knew". Merlin forced a smile and shrugged. "Found it."

Guinevere had been smiling, watching the boots polish themselves, but now she turned, smile turned crooked, to face him. "Found it where?"

"Around."

Terrible lie. Would it really be so bad to tell the truth?

Guinevere laughed a little. "No really, where did you find it? Knowledge like this, it's all been lost for a long time, hasn't it?"

Merlin shrugged again. "I-" Cleared his throat, choking on his lies. "I've got a spell in there to do-" He looked around the small house. Spotted some sewing in the corner, sitting on a stool, the bone needle gleaming dully in the firelight from across the room. "To do sewing, wanna see?"

Guinevere frowned and followed his eyes, looking to the sewing in the corner. "Oh no, that's alright." She shrugged. "I can do my own sewing."

"I'll show you."

"No, it's-"

Merlin stared at the sewing across the room, hissed a little, and the tunic rose into the air, needle moving in and out of it. "There, easy."

He watched Guinevere tip-toe over to the sewing, she walked around it, looking at it from all angles. "Amazing." She sighed.

"What other chores do you have?" Merlin giggled.

Guinevere shook her head but he could see she was smiling. "Nothing for tonight. But thank you, I think." She crossed her arms. "You'll have to show me how to do that."

He closed the book again. "Definitely." He couldn't hide the grin.

Guinevere stretched and yawned. "Sorry, but-"

Merlin stood quickly. "Should I go?" He had probably annoyed her long enough. "I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's-"

"Sorry." He began grabbing all the enchanted objects out of the air.

She began doing the same thing, gathering the cloak and helmet. "Really, it's okay, I just-"

And they knocked into each other again as they were stuffing the chores back into Merlin's satchel, each item twitching and hopping a little with residual magics. Half the stuff fell onto the floor.

Merlin laughed and began to pick it all up again.

Guinevere stepped again. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Merlin finished packing up his bag. "Thanks." And he smiled, smiled without thinking about it, smiled without helping it. He couldn't help it.

Guinevere smiled back. "Shall I see you at the lists tomorrow?"

Lists? That word sounded familiar. Merlin thought back to the Prince's hurried lessons during their sparring practice. Oh, the lists! Where the tournaments were. "Ahm, yes. Yeah, definitely."

"Good luck." Guinevere stepped forward and opened the door for him.

Merlin nodded. "Thanks." Almost walked through the doorway, thought better of it, and stepped back inside. "I guess I'll see you too, then?"

"Yes." She nodded slowly. "Yes, I'll be with the Lady Morgana."

"Right, right." He sighed and stepped out again. "G'night, Guinevere."

"Get some sleep, Merlin."

* * *

One, two,... Guinevere counted softly. Three… And where was four? There had to be at least four. She frowned. Pushing aside a bit of hay. Ah! There was four. She gently wiped the egg on her apron. She and her father owned seven fat, little chickens and they had better be laying. Because she fed them well enough. She had even built them a little coop out of wattle and daub.

And there was number five. She snaked her hand into the nest a little further and brushed a few downy feathers off the egg. Slipping the fifth egg into her apron pocket, she began to look for the sixth one, if there was one. And hopefully, a seventh. She squinted in the half-light of evening as she searched.

The tournament had ended hours ago but she was still reliving it in her mind's eye. True, it was a test of strength and skill, and violence was the point of it all. But still…

She shuddered, thinking back to poor Sir Ewan.

Guinevere soon found the sixth egg and set to finding the seventh.

The poor boy had collapsed after fighting with a visiting knight, then had been dealt a finishing blow. From where she had been sitting with the Lady Morgana, it seemed as though Sir Ewan had some sort of fainting spell. He had just crumpled to the ground without so much of a scratch. Strange.

Guinevere sighed. She couldn't find the seventh egg anywhere. It was probably hidden. At least one of her hens had taken to hiding eggs. Or at least, laying them in odd places.

Perhaps Sir Ewan had overexerted himself. Perhaps it had been the heat. Some people fainted from that. But it hadn't been very hot today. She instinctively shook her head, trying to shake away the scene in her mind. But she couldn't.

She reached and reached, fingers touching the back wall of the coop. Nothing. Perhaps there wasn't a seventh egg.

He collapsed and did not get up. What could cause that?

Finally, her fingers over something smooth and hard.

Instead of a fainting spell, or some hidden wound, Sir Ewan looked more like someone who had taken something poisonous. Eaten the wrong mushroom or berry. He had vomited into the dirt of the arena.

Guinevere drew back, pulling the little egg with her. Speckled and thick-shelled. She smiled.

Yes, some kind of poison maybe. Given to him before the tournament. Or during.

Her grip slipped.

Maybe through food. Or an open wound.

Crack!

Guinevere looked down on the broken egg on the ground before her. She was ready to curse, but held it back. Her mother had always mentioned not crying over broken eggs. They were broken and that was that. Might as well take this chance to read them.

She squat down, the six eggs clicking and rolling in her apron pockets, sounding very much like her joints. And leaning in, she examined the yolk of the broken egg. Her mother said things could be read in eggs. The future. The present. Good news or bad news. The yolk had broken though so it was running in a little rivulet. Long and thin.

Poison could be fed through an open wound. Or a bite.

The yolk flowed into the shape of a snake.

Guinevere blinked. Something fell into place.

She had to tell Gaius. Tell him something was wrong about all of this. Guinevere stood from her crouch and took her six eggs inside, leaving the broken one there. Supper would have to wait. Her Da would understand. Took off her apron, tossed it on the table, and swung outside.

Sir Ewan hadn't looked like a wounded knight, he had looked very much like a man bitten by something, perhaps a snake. Guinevere had seen it before. Or at least, her mother had.

The streets of the town were becoming empty, but not quite yet. She dodged inbetween people on their way home, or on the way to the tavern. Striding, making her way uphill, up to the castle. Finally, she slipped into the physician's chambers.

"Gaius?" She closed the door behind her. "Gaius?"

No answer.

Guinevere spotted the unconscious Sir Ewan, lying on one of Gaius's spare beds. He looked terrible, even from a distance. Guinevere closed that distance, passing by a pile of the Prince's armor on a table. So, Merlin had been here. Guinevere knelt by Sir Ewan's side and looked him over. He was paler, and sweating. His body was very still, but his breaths rattled. He was having trouble drawing a full breath. It wasn't long before Guinevere noticed his neck. How could she not? It was a swollen, red, and bruised mess, with two puncture wounds in the middle of it all, though she had to squint in the dim firelight to see them. She sat back.

So it was a snake, or something like a snake. But how could-

"Hello?! Who's there?" Gaius appeared from the back room. "Gwen?"

Guinevere got to her feet, grimacing. "I wanted to see how he was."

"Yes." Gaius nodded but the old man turned away and begun to fuss with the fireplace, poking the embers.

"These two marks on his neck, I think-"

"A snakebite, perhaps? That's what I thought too."

"What else could it be?" Guinevere stared down at the knight, who wheezed with every breath. Her heart twisted a little. Something about that fight had not been fair.

"It's certainly very strange. And for the life of me, I can't think of how to treat him save with an antidote." And Gaius sat down in a nearby chair, the old thing squeaking with his weight. He sighed.

Guinevere looked around. "Where's Merlin?"

"Oh, off somewhere. Probably chores." A pause. "He was in a hurry."

She frowned, thinking back to the tournament hours before, staring into the little fireplace. Sir Valiant had snakes on his shield. A bit of it a leap, but Sir Ewan had been fighting him when he fell prone. Perhaps Sir Valiant had some sort of poison on his blade. Or something to prick an enemy with, covered in snake venom. Perhaps.

She looked back to Gaius again, who shrugged.

"It looks like a nadder's bite." Guinevere offered.

Gaius sighed. "Thank you, I noticed."

"Stithe leaves boiled in water and left to sit might help…" Guinevere swallowed. "Might help with the swelling."

"Stithe?" Gaius got up from his chair.

"Nettle, stinging nettle. Sorry, that's what my mother used to call it. Stithe."

But Gaius smiled. "Then it must be one of the old words. I remember now, thank you."

She nodded and moved towards the door, putting her hand to the latch. "I'll go find Merlin, we'll be back."

He waved a hand. "Yes, yes, do make sure he isn't getting himself into trouble again."

Guinevere slipped back out into the corridor and stood there a moment. Where would Merlin go? She wasn't sure. But she knew where she would go. Heart pounding, Guinevere set off into the castle. Her soft shoes were silent and certainly no one could hear her over the gentle hissing of the torches in every corridor. She moved closer and closer to the guest chambers, ascending a staircase, tip-toeing past an open door, and finally rounding a corner.

Something solid.

Guinevere fell back, hard, onto her behind. Ow.

She gasped a little at the pain, trying to stay silent. She began to apologize for her clumsiness.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? I wasn't looking- I'm sorry!"

Merlin stood over her, ears bright red.

Guinevere smiled and held a hand out to him.

"Oh, right, sorry." And he grasped her hand in his, pulling her to her feet.

"Thank you."

"Are you hurt?"

"Just a little bruised. I was looking for you."

His eyebrows rose into his hair. "Me?" He was panting a little. Had he been running? And Merlin began to walk away, back the way Guinevere had just come.

"Yes." Guinevere followed him. "I had an idea." And she lowered her voice even more, leaning towards Merlin as they walked. "About Sir Ewan." They seemed to be going back to Gaius's chambers.

"Mmmm" Merlin nodded, looking over his shoulder, walking a little faster.

Guinevere struggled to keep up. She looked over her shoulder. Nothing was there. "Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"What's going on?"  
"Oh, nothing." His voice was mostly a squeak.

Guinevere leaned in again. "Is this about, perhaps, the knight that fought against Sir Ewan?"

Merlin stayed silent. But he nodded, eyes wide.

Guinevere felt a little thrill. She had been right. She must have been. Something else was going on here. "I thought so." She murmured.

"Yeah."  
Guinevere glanced around. She hadn't seen any servants or guards for a while. Good. She took the sleeve of Merlin's tunic and gently pulled him towards an alcove. "Merlin." She whispered. "What is going on?"

"Snakes." Was all Merlin said.

She nodded. "Yes, we guessed that. But how? Did you see?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"I don't think he saw me."

"The knight?"

"I hope he didn't." She saw Merlin stick his head out of the alcove and look up and down the corridor.

"The snakes." Guinevere reminded Merlin. "Tell me."

"Oh, he's got some." Merlin swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing.

"And?"

"They're in his shield."

She snorted. "Well, yes, they are painted on, but-"  
"No." Merlin shook his head. "There are real, live snakes in his shield. The painted ones, they come alive."

"Sorcery." Guinevere sighed.

"Sorcery." Merlin groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RESEARCH NOTES
> 
> Hello again, here are some notes on the random things I ended up researching.
> 
> 1.) Reading Eggs: Divination is possible anywhere, in any object. In my research, I found some precedent in Ancient Greece for telling fortunes with egg yolks. If the yolk formed a certain shape, a fortune would be based on that. Guinevere uses this process in a more intuitive way, since magic does actually exist in this world.
> 
> 2.) Nadder: The term "nadder" is an archaic reference to an "adder", a type of snake. At some point, the "n" was dropped and "nadder" became "adder". Another example of this is the word "apron", which used to be "napron".
> 
> 3.) Adder's Bite: The snakes in Valiant's shield are magical, but just for a reference point, I made them the Common European Adder (Vipera berus) since it would have populated the area at the time. The symptoms of an adder's bite are as follows: pain at bite site; swelling, redness, and bruising at bite; nausea and vomiting; itchy and/or lumpy rash; breathing difficulties due to swelling lips, mouth, and/or throat; mental confusion; dizziness; fainting; and irregular heartbeat. I tried to incorporate some of these symptoms and keep the original ones listed in the show.
> 
> 4.) Stithe or Stinging Nettle: Stiðe, or as I wrote it phonetically, Stithe, is an Old English word for Stinging Nettle. Stinging Nettle, or Urtica dioica, is a common plant on many continents and in several biomes. This includes the UK. The Stinging Nettle's claim to fame is its tendency to deliver a stinging sensations whenever someone is unlucky enough to just brush against it.
> 
> 5.) Properties of Stinging Nettle: The Stinging Nettle had been used medicinally for quite a while for a wide range of ailments. Reportedly, one of its properties is that it can be an antihistamine. This would, theoretically, help with any swelling a patient may be experiencing. (Of course, I'm no doctor.)


End file.
